


All Lucky VIIs

by Lalafell_Princess



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalafell_Princess/pseuds/Lalafell_Princess
Summary: An escaped experiment's journey to learn what freedom, family, and love truly are.*A re-imagining of the Curse of Strahd campaign*
Kudos: 8





	1. Preface/Author's Note

This is the third time I’ve run Curse of Strahd.

I can’t get enough of it, honestly. The story, the characters, the atmosphere, _everything_. I just eat it up and am still left wanting. Blame my late Castlevania addiction, but vampire lore is fascinating to me. Strahd is no exception.

The first two run-throughs were classic, mostly vanilla renditions of the campaign. Fantastic, no doubt, by very by-the-book, in terms of the story. For the this third (and probably last, at least for a while) time, I wanted to do things a little different. I wanted to be on Strahd’s side. You spend so much time evading him and fighting him, I feel like I’ve been missing out on trying to figure out who he really is. What his motives really are. What he really wants for himself. And so, here we are. I didn’t get _exactly_ what I thought I would going into it, but I’ve fallen so deeply in love with how things are turning out, I wanted to novelize it into a seamless, compelling story.

I want to lay down some background information for readers. First: while this is all based on a published campaign with established characters, it derails heavily from the book. New characters are introduced, and things are very different from how the story usually unfolds. If you want a more rigid, canon story, this one might not be for you. That being said, I feel like what has been added enhances what’s already there, gives the lore a few more layers, and fills in some plot gaps. Think of this as a sort of re-imagining of the original story.

Second: this is still very much a work in progress. This is a one-on-one session I’m running where I’m the only player, and my husband is the DM. He works tirelessly to make the story and encounters work for just one player and my quirky playstyle, and I commend him for it. We have to find time to play in between work and other commitments, not to mention the planning he has to do, so our play schedule is inconsistent at best. On top of that, after the session plays out, I have to then turn it into a comprehensible chapter, and that alone takes quite a bit of time. Updates on this will probably be just as sporadic as our sessions, but as of me writing this, I plan to see it through to the end. Posting it as I go will hopefully help keep me on track and give me the motivation I need.

Lastly: I am not a Dungeons & Dragons expert. While I enjoy playing, I’m more in it for the roleplay and story than fighting, so there’s much and more I don’t know. I will do my utmost best to cover all my bases and make sure my terminology is correct, but I’m sure there will be some mistakes. Please bear with me.

I’m really looking forward to novelizing this incredible adventure. I hope you guys will enjoy it as much as I do, both playing through it and writing it. It is my fervent wish that my love for these characters and this story comes across in my writing.

And so, without further ado, let us begin.


	2. The Wandering Tavern

VII. Seven. The only name she’s even known.

Growing up was bleak. Childhood was a nonexistent joke. There was only darkness, dankness, and tears. So many, many tears. She never quite knew the motivation behind her parents banishing her to a world of poking needles and prodding researchers. Something about an unpaid favor, or an untold sum of money, she’s sure.

Days in that secret laboratory were long and filled with test after test. ‘VII’ was the denomination given to her, as she was seventh in line for the experiments. And six before her had fallen victim to death’s embrace. Those awful beings sought to find a way to infuse humans with magic, to bind their wills to that of the unknown realm. Of course, those with strong bonds to magic already exist; warlocks and wizards attest to that. But they wanted more. An inseparable, inescapable link was the only acceptable solution. For nineteen years VII suffered under this yoke. Nineteen years of pain and neglect, ruin and grime. Although those days are far behind her now, their creeping tendrils still worm their way into her nightmares, both waking and sleeping. One may escape such things in the flesh, but the mind will never truly be free from them.

The afternoon is bright, sunlight dappling the worn dirt path through leafy branches. It’s been nearly a week since the accident. In the chaos of screaming researchers and screeching metal, VII broke out. The only baggage tying her to that dreadful prison are the scars marring her skin, her alabaster hair, and her haunting violet eyes: remnants from countless experiments. Those, and the battle axe hanging from her waist. Wielding a weapon was never something taught to her, but wandering out in the wilds without one seemed foolish. So, she snagged it from the wall on her way out. Something about it seemed to call to her, but it may have merely been the blood pounding in her ears and the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The gap between villages is long, and she makes for Baldur’s Gate. Whispers of the town carried to her as she traveled aimlessly, trying to find purpose. If the rumors prove to be true, anyone with the will to work could make it there. And so she walks, winding her way, hoping to find something of worth in this big, unfamiliar world.

The upward-sloping path finally levels out. At its crest sits a tavern. This seems odd; there are no other buildings around, just swaying trees and the distant sounds of a brook. VII glances the worn woodwork up and down. There’s no sign, no name, no nothing. Just frosted windows and a set of heavy double doors. Her stomach whines, and she can’t help but be drawn in by the promise of a good meal.

The interior is cozy, with scents of meat and mead wafting through the air. The tables are packed, and all the patrons seem extremely similar and familiar with one other. Colorful clothing drapes over chairs and stretches into sleeves and stockings. Talk is boisterous and cheerful, but all chatter ceases as she steps through the door.

Every face turns to look at her, each wearing an expression of confusion and bewilderment. Her pale face grows hot, and she fumbles with the handle behind her. Was she interrupting something? A meeting? Maybe she should just leave.

“Sorry, my mistake,” she mumbles, tugging the door. But it won’t budge. The frame rattles as she tries again, but no luck. Her stomach sinks a couple feet. She’s trapped. Again.

The patrons begin whispering amongst themselves while she has a quiet panic attack. Snippets such as, “Must be another one he’s caught,” and, “This is the first one in a while,” reach her ears. The only conclusion her racing mind can reach is that they’ve been sent to round up the escaped test subjects. _I’m not going back… I’m not going back…_

“Lass, why no’h take a seat?”

The bartender stands before her. “I’m not going back,” she finally says aloud. “If you’re conspiring to return me to the lab, I won’t go!” Fear drips from her words, ruining any bravery trying to slip through.

“The lab…?” The heavyset man looks thoughtful. “S’no lab where we’re headin’, s’far as I know. You’re innit for the long haul, so you might’s’well make the mosta it.” He gestures to a nearby table with an empty chair. “Here, sit, an’ I’ll bring some meat. Onna house.”

Lack of experience and confidence make VII obey without much objection. She slinks into the seat. Four other people chat idly around her, pausing at her action.

“Has he ever brought one in this way?” One asks, a woman with blue drapes.

“Nah, I don’ think so,” another responds, his green tunic wet from guzzling drinks.

A third laughs loudly. “Gettin’ desperate, innit he?” He lightly punches the woman’s arm, and she slaps him.

The fourth, a man seated on VII’s left, eyes her gently. “What’s your name?”

“VII,” she mumbles. “Call me VII.”

“VII… very well.” He smiles. “The name’s Clay. You don’ have to look so nervous. You look like you can handle yourself. You’re gonna be fine, I’m sure ‘o it.”

“Fine…?” The word sounds foreign coming from her mouth. Her gaze is distant. “If not the lab, where are we going? Have they a new facility already?”

“I don’ know where you’re from, lassie, but I assure you, we’re headed somewhere far different. Somewhere far away.”

Clay falls silent after this, returning to the table’s conversation. As promised, the bartender brings a platter and sets it before her. Despite her stomach tying itself in knots, the scent is wonderful, and she finds herself cutting into the tender meat and stuffing it in her mouth.

The others speak of things unknown. There seems to be someone at the heart of each sentence, some unspoken ruler to whom they owe allegiance. That must be who they’re bringing her to. But if it’s not those whom she escaped from, then who? Who else could possibly know of her existence?

Restless eyes cause her to take notice of something strange. Some sort of gray mist seeps through the windowpanes and curls under the door. No one else pays this phenomenon a passing glance. It grows thicker, gathering in the corners and sweeping across the floor. She swallows hard. _Magic?_

A large _thump_ suddenly sloshes drinks and jolts patrons. All is then still once more.

“We’re here, then,” Clay says, standing. Others begin to follow suit, walking single file out the double doors.

He turns to her, something held in his well-worn hands. “Take this. In case you ever need anythin’.” A faded paper card is placed in her limp, trembling hand. “Take care out there.”

Soon she is the only one left in the tavern. Her feet shuffle towards the doors, frightened of what might await her beyond their frame. She’s happy to have the axe with her. The world still seems a big question mark, with many more queries than answers. She looks to the card in her hand. Clay’s name is scribbled, along with an address. It brings her comfort. At least there’s someone out there who cares for her well-being.

Unless it’s all a trick.

Like it has been so many times before.


	3. Barovia, Village and Land

Early evening has set in. Cloudy skies roll overhead, the horizon misty and shadowed. VII finds herself in an open field, not unlike the area where she first stumbled into the tavern. Now, however, she senses Clay’s words to be true: she’s far, far away from any place she’s even known.

The grass is damp from the mists, tickling her ankles as she walks. Ahead of her is a village, shrouded in smoke. Off to the right, the silhouette of a castle cuts through the clouds. It may just be the lighting, but the air seems much darker immediately around it. All the tavern patrons have vanished, giving her no inclination of where to go or what to do. Freedom is still a rather foreign concept for her.

The village seems like a good place to start. As she approaches, the smoky air parts to reveal burned buildings and charred rubble. People mill about on the streets, looking lost and forlorn. Their clothing is much blander and simpler than those from the tavern. Faces are scuffed, eyes are sunken, talk is quick and quiet. Clearly, these people have seen their share of hardship.

The skies open and rain begins to fall, softly but steadily. Water drips from VII’s unkempt hair as she sloshes along the streets. While people don’t outright avoid her, no one makes any attempt to acknowledge her presence. She has to make the first move to start a conversation.

“Excuse me…” she finally says to a woman, who jumps at her words.

“Wha’ are you doin’ out?” the woman asks in a creaky voice. “It’s gettin’ to the hour where it’s not safe. Where’re your parents?”

“Uh,” VII stutters. “I…”

“Oh, child. Were they lost in the raids this mornin’?”

VII nods slowly, pretending to understand. The woman places a hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry. Many perished. Here, take this.” She hands over a few pieces of silver. “Go an’ get warm at the inn. It’s near the center o’ town, as you know, I’m sure.”

VII fumbles over a thank-you and makes for the town’s center. There is indeed an inn, this time with a sign: Blood on the Vine. The rain has picked up, and she’s completely soaked as she walks in, dripping rainwater onto the wooden floor. The bartender greets her as she approaches.

Five minutes later she’s watching the downpour from a grimy window upstairs. The room is small, with merely a bed and a lamp, but it’s much cozier than anywhere she ever stayed growing up. Thoughts buzz around in her mind like an angry swarm. What’s going on? Why was she brought here? _How_ was she brought here? How is she to get back? Does she even want to go back?

A headache sets in, and she retreats to the mattress to lie down. Her wet, dirty clothes stain the sheets, but she doesn’t care. Exhaustion begins to take over, and she soon succumbs to sleep, resolving to learn more of her situation in the morning.

Said morning comes on just as gloomy as the previous evening. At least the rain has stopped. She drags herself downstairs with the intention of finding something to eat, but screaming causes her to pause. The door leading outside is slightly ajar, and she pokes her head out. Her eyes go wide: a massive wolf is standing in the town square, over the corpse of a young boy. A distraught woman, presumably the mother, is held back by a town guard. It’s her that’s screaming.

“Please, avenge my son!” she shrieks, tears streaming down her face. More guards look on, but don’t make any move to attack.

VII takes matters into her own hands. She’s not going to get used to making her own decisions by simply standing there. A purple bolt of energy whizzes past the wolf’s ear, shot from her axe. Magic may have been the subject of every test ever done on her, but its mastery still eludes her.

The beast looks up, growling. Hatred and power pulse in its dark eyes. It lunges, tearing into her shoulder with its fangs. She cries out, wildly swinging her weapon. A few well-placed blows fell the monster, and it dies with hardly a whimper. The guards close in. Gratitude seems to be in order, but that is far from what they offer.

“Wha' do you think you’re doing?” one spits, lifting her up by her collar. “We don’t wan’ none o’ your trouble here.”

“What do you mean?” She struggles weakly. “I killed that thing, didn’t I? I was helping!”

“Magic,” another hisses. “Magic is a forbidden art, used only by the Vistani and those of _his_ court.”

They throw her down onto the hard stone steps. “She’s another pawn!” someone yells. “Grab her, quick!”

Before the crowd can close in, a low, smooth voice shatters the air. “Now, now, can’t you see the poor thing is lost and scared?”

Everything goes deathly silent. VII looks up, blood dribbling down her chin. A man stands over her, dressed in exquisite clothing. Thick boots hardly make a sound as he kneels next to her. An ebony cape flows from his velvety, crimson vest. Jet black hair is slicked back off his pale skin. Long, elegant fingers reach for her face, swiping the blood away. “Are you hurt?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head, bewildered. “Who are you?”

He stands again, seeming to tower over her. With a smile, he offers his hand. “Me? I am Strahd von Zarovich.”

After a moment, she takes it. He lifts her to her feet with minimal effort. At his cool touch, she feels the wound on her shoulder close. _Healing magic_. “Come inside, sit. You must be weary from your fight.”

She’s led back inside the inn, with the guards and townspeople scampering off as fast as they can. This is mostly disregarded by her. The man, Strahd, has her full attention.

The bartender is waved over, and looks very uncomfortable at her savior’s arrival. He hastily bows, floundering over his own feet, and brings forth his best meat and, at VII’s request, water.

The pair sit at an empty table, food between them. Strahd studies her intently. “What is your name, dearest?” His eyes are dark, yet calming. They seem to hold an immense amount of knowledge and power. The aura about him is authoritative and commanding, and yet he sits with her as though he’s about to break bread with his own kin.

“You can call me VII,” she replies. His blood-red irises haven’t escaped her notice. Instead of being frightened, however, she takes comfort in it. She, too, has odd eyes.

“VII…” he muses. “But that is a number, not a name.”

“I know,” she mumbles. “But it’s the only name I was ever given.”

“I see…” He laces his fingers together, long nails folding over his hands. “Then VII it is.”

“Can you tell me where we are?” The meat smells delicious, and she begins to pick at it.

“We are in the land of Barovia, in the village of the same name. What brings you to my domain?”

“Your domain…” Her mouth falls open, full of food. “Are you the king?”

He smiles again. “A king of sorts, yes. My castle is just up the hill. Not many are able to travel here, to these mist-laden lands. How did you?”

She swallows, speaking of her time in the misty tavern.

“Ah, I see. You found yourself caught up in my Wandering Tavern. Usually only my followers, the Vistani, can see it, but it seems you, too, have been chosen. Very interesting.”

Why is this man so comforting to her? Distrust clouds VII’s judgment at every turn. Even Clay, the kind Vistani man, was suspicious to her. No one has ever shown her compassion, helped her, or cared for her. Everyone seems a threat, waiting to turn on her. And yet somehow, Strahd feels different. It’s been nearly ten minutes, and she’s never felt more at ease in her entire life.

Alas, that should have been her first clue that something was horribly amiss.

“Are you tired, dear?” Strahd’s voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Not really, no,” she begins to say, but even as the words leave her mouth, a wave of fatigue crashes over her.

“But you look so exhausted…” His concerned expression wavers in and out of focus as her vision pulses. She tries to speak, but to no avail. Against her will, she falls forward onto the table and knows no more.


	4. Welcome to the Family

VII awakes with a start. Crisp, clean sheets surround her as she sits up. She finds herself in a four-poster bed with black blankets and red trim. The room is cozy, the carpeted stone and crackling hearth offering much-needed warmth. Sofa, desk, and bookshelf all line the walls, candles flickering in sconces placed periodically throughout.

Where is she? What happened? She holds her head, trying to remember. One minute, she’d been talking with Strahd, and the next… Had he brought her here? The sheets rustle as she slides to the floor, deciding to find out. There are two doors on the far wall. One leads to a walk-in closet, and the other opens up into another, larger room.

Multiple bookcases sit between darkened windows, their volumes thick and bright. Tables and chairs fill the center of the room, another fireplace ablaze with light. Here, too, feels comfortable and well-maintained. Is this the castle Strahd mentioned?

It takes her a moment to realize there’s a man sitting at one of the tables. He’s facing her, a book opened in front of him. His clothing is dark, with gilded accents. The vest is low-cut, and his chiseled skin is porcelain-like. A cape is draped over the side of the chair. Short, silver-dappled hair frames his pale face. Striking ruby eyes glance her over. “’Tis good to see you up, VII. My father told me to expect you.”

“Your father…?” Realization washes over her. “You father is Strahd?”

He nods, standing. “Indeed. My name is Virgil von Zarovich. Welcome to Castle Ravenloft.”

They shake hands. His grip feels powerful, yet reserved. “What happened, then? How long have I been here?” she asks.

“My father said you collapsed at the inn in Barovia, and brought you here to rest. That was midmorning, and it is now nearing nightfall.”

“I see…” She trails off.

“I realize you must have many questions,” he continues. “We are to dine with my father soon, and all your inquiries can be addressed then. For now,” He retires back to his seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits in the chair across, looking everywhere but at him. Something about his presence is… alluring. Something makes emotions stir within her that she’s never before felt. A very similar sensation overtook her earlier while she was with Strahd. Maybe it runs in the family? Kings and rulers are usually captivating in their speeches and dealings, so it must have something to do with that.

Right?

A side door creaks open, and a woman walks into the room. Her mousy brown hair sways in loose pigtails as she approaches. A slight accent coats her words, one VII has never heard before. “Who is this, then?”

“This is VII,” Virgil says. “My father brought her here.”

A strange expression clouds the woman’s face for a brief moment. “…Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ezmerelda.” She does a sort of curtsy before giving Virgil a stern look. “Have you offered her new clothing? Hers are in tatters!”

It’s true; VII's ill-fitted ensemble is torn and dirty, and she’s in desperate need of a bath. Virgil looks sheepish. “I… I didn’t consider…”

Ezmerelda huffs and yanks VII from her chair, dragging her over to another door. Inside is a ceramic washtub, lined with every imaginable scent of soap. “Here, wash up if you like. Take anything from the closet there when you’re done. I apologize that this wasn’t offered to you sooner.” She shuts the door.

VII then enjoys a lavish bath. While her past is grim she was, of course, allowed to bathe, but never in anything this nice. When finished, she picks an outfit from the attached closet: a dusky tunic, sturdy leggings, and tall boots. She emerges from the washroom, smelling of lavender and fresh mint. Virgil is still sitting at the table, but Ezmerelda has one foot out the window, of all things.

“You’re looking much perkier.” She smiles at VII before sliding out into the night.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention at dinner that she was here,” Virgil says, standing and closing the window. “Our fathers aren’t on very good terms.” He looks embarrassed again. “I, ah, also apologize about the delay in you being allowed to cleanse yourself.”

“It’s no problem,” she replies, cheeks a little warm. His voice is soft and silky, and it’s very pleasing on her ears each time he speaks. She’s so infatuated that she immediately forgets to ask any more questions about Ezmerelda’s mysterious exit.

“Well, then, shall we head down?”

She nods, and he leads her through yet another door and out into the hallway. A spiral staircase is to their left, winding up and down in the castle’s tower. Their footsteps bounce and echo off the stone walls as they descend. The landing below is filled with suits of armor, the sentinels standing silently as they pass. Thin double doors open noiselessly into a dining hall. A polished wooden table takes up most of the space, several ornate chairs around its long edges. Golden platters and sparkling glasses gleam in the bright torchlight.

Despite the table’s impressive length, there are only two seated at the far end. Strahd offers a warm smile as the pair enter, a woman in an elegant dress at his left. “Welcome, welcome. Please, come and dine with us.”

Virgil sits on Strahd’s right, with VII in the chair beside. At the flick of a wrist, the plates fill with all manner of delicacies: meat, bread, vegetables, sweets… VII doesn’t know where to start. Something in in the back of her mind screams at her to be cautious as she helps herself, but she ignores it. These men at her side make her throw all caution to the wind. Surely, she’ll be taken care of. _Surely..._

As the clinking of utensils slowly fades, Strahd addresses her. “So, VII, how have you enjoyed your time so far in Barovia?” He himself did not partake of any food, but sips periodically from a glass of thick, dark wine.

“It’s been… lovely,” she stammers, nervous at being put on the spot. “Thank you so much for your kind hospitality. I’ve never been granted any favors my whole life, and people usually rub me the wrong way, to be honest. But something about you and your son brings me great peace and comfort, and I’m grateful for it.”

“I’m so glad,” he purrs.

VII then turns to the woman beside him. “Are you the queen?”

Airy, high-pitched laughter is her response. “Oh, no, my dear, not quite!” A ditsy smile reaches up to her heavily powdered cheeks. “I’m just another of Lord Zarovich’s guests, like you.”

“Yes, two guests… a rare treat here in the castle,” Strahd muses.

VII suddenly remembers how cold the townspeople had been towards their ruler, which is strange. He seems so gracious and charitable; what can they possibly have against him?

“Forgive me, my lord,” The formal title leaves a strange taste in her mouth. “But why were the citizens of Barovia so bristled at your coming this morning?”

He sighs, settling back in his seat. “That would be due to my condition.” He curls back his upper lip, and sharp, white fangs poke out. “I believe I frighten them.” A long draught is then taken from his glass.

VII tries unsuccessfully to hide her surprise. That’s not wine in his cup. The snippets of myths and faerie tales whispered during her youth come crashing back. Stories of werewolves, golems, dragons, and…

Vampires.

Bloodsucking, shadow-dwelling, children of the night vampires.

“I… you’re…” Her eyes flit from him to his son, who must also share the same fate. How had she not noticed this before?

“A vampire, yes,” Strahd finishes for her. “A product of the terrible curse placed over this land, meant to torture those trapped inside it. The mists don’t let just anyone leave, you see. And so Barovia’s inhabitants are doomed to wander aimlessly forever, myself included.”

“I’m so sorry,” she hears herself say. “Where did this curse come from? Isn’t there anything we can do? I don’t know much about the world, but magic is more familiar to me, so maybe—”

Strahd holds his hand up, and she falls silent. “This curse is far more complex and dangerous than anything you’ve ever beheld, I’m sure. While I appreciate your offer, I fear there’s not much to be done. It’s been this way for centuries, and that’s simply the way of it.” He looks thoughtful. “If you are to remain here, however, we’ll need to put you to good use somewhere… If, of course, you aren’t disgusted by my being, as so many others are.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, definitely not! I’d hate to judge you based on that fact alone. Even with what you just revealed to me, my previous statement still stands: I feel safe around you and Virgil. If you’ll have me, I’d be more than happy with whatever work you’d see fit to have me perform.”

“Very good, VII.” Strahd smiles again. “What a delightful girl you are. We are truly blessed to have your presence here. Let’s see… the castle could use some cleaning up, but that’s hardly fair to place all that maintenance on one person, let alone a fair lady… Ah.” He laces his fingers together. “I think I may have found the answer.”

VII listens with bated breath. “If, or when, I step down from this mantle of ruling over Barovia, Virgil will take my place, as is customary. He’ll need someone to rule by his side, though. That’s where you come in.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Virgil looks nearly as surprised as VII. “You’d have me…” she begins.

“Marry my son, yes,” he finishes for her yet again, grinning. “Welcome to the family, VII.”

The elegant woman squeals with delight. “How wonderful! We’ll have to begin preparations right away!”

Virgil is silent, but doesn’t look unhappy. Maybe the same butterflies filling VII’s stomach are also in his. Maybe his heart is pounding in his chest, the same as hers. Maybe he also shares her unquenchable excitement; excitement that overshadows any concern about the possible consequences of going down this road.

“Now, now, Gertruda, she must be tired from her long day today. This is a lot to process. Let’s talk more about it on the morrow.” Strahd flicks his wrist again and the food disappears, leaving the plates as clean as before the meal. “VII, why don’t you retire for the night? You’ll be staying in Virgil’s room again, for the moment. I’m afraid it will take us some time to get another bedroom into decent condition.”

“It’s no problem,” VII says, her face growing hot. That was Virgil’s room? Virgil’s bed? No wonder it smelled so nice.

Strahd stands, taking Gertruda’s hand. “We will see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, VII, Virgil.” They exit through a door on the far wall.

VII and Virgil sit in silence for a moment. The tension in the air is nearly tangible, but what kind of tension, she isn’t sure. “We should head upstairs,” Virgil says finally, breaking the spell. “I hope this hasn’t been too much for you. My father can be… impulsive, sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” she squeaks, following him back out into the hallway. “Are… _you_ okay with this?” she dares to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I believe it will work out, yes,” he says, stopping on the stair landing. “But my father is right: it’s a lot to process, for both of us. Let’s sleep on it, and reconvene tomorrow.”

“Sure.” They’ve reached the upstairs lounge, walking over to the connected bedroom. Though she’s slept for so long already, her thick emotions have worn her ragged, and rest sounds amazing.

“Go ahead and get ready for bed,” he says, going to stoke the flames in the hearth.

She kicks off her boots, pausing. “I can sleep on the couch. This is your bed, after all.”

He shakes his head, turning to her. “No, please, take it. You are our guest.” He smiles, and her heart stops.

The issue is not pushed any further, and she slides beneath the sheets. The candles are extinguished, leaving the flickering fireplace as the only light source. He lays out on the sofa across the room, staring at the ceiling.

“Virgil?” she asks after a moment, her voice shaky.

“Yes?”

“Are you also… a vampire?”

There’s a pause. “…Yes. Half of one, at least. My mother is human. I enjoy the benefits of vampirism without many of the setbacks. I don’t have to drink blood, I can survive in sunlight, and I have a reflection.”

“Who is she? Your mother, I mean.” VII swallows hard.

He sighs. “Someone far away from here, from another lifetime. I will tell you about her sometime, but not tonight.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head.

“’Tis quite all right. It’s only natural for you to be curious about the man you’re now engaged to.” He chuckles nervously. “I’d like to know more about you as well. But again, let us do it another time; tomorrow, perhaps.”

“It’s a deal.” They fall silent after this, and drift into uneasy sleep. VII’s because of her uncontainable elation at finally having a real family and being accepted. Virgil’s for other reasons.

Reasons that will soon change both their lives forever.


	5. Betrayal on the Road

Day comes on, offering the same cloudy, misty weather. VII sits up in the grand bed, finding herself alone. Questions from yesterday come floating back: about the proposed wedding, about Virgil’s origins, about this family that has adopted her in with little issue. She paces the room, pondering. How soon would all this be happening? Within the month? A few weeks? Days? Her stomach twinges with anxious excitement at the idea of wearing an elaborate wedding gown, walking down the aisle arm-in-arm with a sharp-dressed Virgil. Maybe his suit will be black and crimson, to match his gorgeous eyes. He’ll smile at her, his flawless face closing the distance between hers for a tender, chaste kiss…

A book is lying open on the desk that was not there the previous night. It pulls her from her daydream and she sits before it, intrigued. The leather looks old and worn; a journal, maybe? The handwriting is embellished, and it takes her a while to work through all its curves and loops.

_I am the Ancient. I am the Land. My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I was the warrior, I was good and just. I thundered across the land like the wrath of a just god, but the war years and the killing years wore down my soul as the wind wears stone into sand._

_All goodness slipped from my life. I found my youth and strength gone, and all I had left was death. My army settled in the valley of Barovia and took power over the people in the name of a just god, but with none of a god’s grace or justice._

_I called for my family, long unseated from their ancient thrones, and brought them here to settle in the castle Ravenloft. They came with a younger brother of mine, Sergei. He was handsome and youthful. I hated him for both._

_From the families of the valley, one spirit shone above all others. A rare beauty, who was called “perfection,” “joy,” and “treasure.” Her name was Tatyana, and I longed for her to be mine._

_I loved her with all my heart. I loved her for her youth. I loved her for her joy. But she spurned me! “Old One” was my name to her— “elder” and “brother” also. Her heart went to Sergei. They were betrothed. The date was set._

_With words she called me “brother,” but when I looked into her eyes they reflected another name: “death.” It was the death of the aged that she saw in me. She loved her youth and enjoyed it. But I had squandered mine._

_The death she saw in me turned her from me. And so I came to hate death—my death. My hate is very strong. I would not be called “death” so soon. I made a pact with death, a pact of blood. On the day of the wedding, I killed Sergei, my brother. My pact was sealed with his blood._

_I found Tatyana weeping in the garden east of the chapel. She fled from me. She would not let me explain, and a great anger swelled within me. She had to understand the pact I made for her. I pursued her. Finally, in despair, she flung herself from the walls of Ravenloft, and I watched everything I ever wanted fall from my grasp forever._

_It was a thousand feet through the mists. No trace of her was ever found. Not even I know her final fate._

_Arrows from the castle guards pierced me to my soul, but I did not die. Nor did I live. I became undead, forever._

_I have studied much since then. “Vampyr” is my new name. I still lust for life and youth, and I curse the living that took them from me. Even the sun is against me. It is the sun and its light I fear the most, but little else can harm me now. Even a stake through my heart does not kill me, though it holds me from movement. But the sword, that cursed sword that Sergei brought! I must dispose of that awful tool! I fear and hate it as much as the sun._

_I have often hunted for Tatyana. I have even felt her within my grasp, but she escapes. She taunts me! She taunts me! What will it take to bend her love to me?_

_I now reside far below Ravenloft. I live among the dead and sleep beneath the very stones of this hollow castle of despair. I shall seal shut the walls of the stairs that none may disturb me._

There is no date, no name. The rest of the journal is blank. Who wrote this? Virgil said this indeed is castle Ravenloft. Did Strahd pen this? If that were the case, would he not still be secretly locked away under the stones, as it says in the text? She’s still at a loss when the door opens.

“Good morning, VII.” Virgil steps through the doorway, holding a silver tray. “I’ve brought breakfast, if you’re hungry.” The platter is filled with bacon, eggs, and toasted bread, and her stomach whines in response.

They eat in silence. Her mind is still reeling with questions, but she’s not sure where to start. He looks absentmindedly out the window. “I’ve sent a missive to Ezmerelda about the wedding. I’m not sure how she’ll take it…”

Her heart sinks a few feet. “Oh, are you guys…?”

Red dusts his cheeks. “O-oh, no, no, we’re just friends, that’s all. Still, though, she’ll think it’s hasty and rash… But, that’s just the way of it.” He runs a hand through his hair, offering a reassuring smile. “No harm done.”

She swallows hard, changing the subject. “Can you tell me who wrote this? This journal here?”

He glances it over, his face grim. “Yes. This is my father’s journal.”

“So it is… I suspected it might be. But what of the end, about dwelling in a secret place?”

“He has a study of sorts below the castle’s main halls. When he’s not… entertaining company, like Gertruda, that’s where he spends most of his time.”

“I see.” She sighs, skimming the tragic words once more. “What a sad story. I’d no idea.”

“Indeed,” he says distantly. “Indeed.”

Her thoughts drift back to the planned wedding, and she asks no more about Strahd’s past for the moment. Even if he did such terrible things, it seems like it was a long time ago. Maybe he regrets it, and wants another chance at redemption. Who is she to deny him, if that is what he wishes?

As breakfast dwindles, Virgil speaks again. “So, what would you like to do today?”

She pauses. What _did_ she want to do today? This is not something she’s usually allowed to decide. Freedom of choice continues to be an unfamiliar area. “Well, maybe I could get a tour of the castle?”

He lightly chuckles, and it’s like music to her ears. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see. Since my father’s…” His eyes dart down to the journal and back up. “ _Incident_ , much of it has fallen into disrepair.The rooms used most often are taken care of, but little else. That’s why we haven’t secured a guest room for your use yet.”

“That’s okay; you can just show me what you’re able to. I don’t mind.”

“Very well. Shall we, then?”

She takes his hand and he helps her up. They return to the staircase from the previous night, going up this time instead of down. The upper landing leads to an outer walkway, slick with rainwater. Heavy droplets spatter against it in the downpour.

“Does it always rain here?” she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the storm.

“Not always, but very frequently, yes,” he replies. “Past this are a few rooms we upkeep, but most are rubble and stone these days, unfortunately. Not too much to see here.”

She doesn’t mind. She just likes being close to him. His presence continues to be overpowering; even more so now that she’s engaged to him. He could lead her in circles about the castle for hours and she would be thrilled.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” he says to her as they head down another floor. “Since you didn't get a chance to before. Where do you come from?”

She proceeds to briefly talk about her upbringing, cruelty and all. “I’m so sorry,” is all he can say once she’s finished. “Full glad am I that you were able to escape from that.” She blushes at his sincerity, saying nothing.

The landing levels out into a long corridor. Music is heard on the air. The tune is beautiful, but somber. It grows louder as they approach closed double doors halfway down the hall. The strong chords vibrate through her as he opens the way, gesturing her inside. The room is large, and not unlike the dining hall used previously. A table sits here as well, laden with various drinks and delicacies. No one sits around it this time, however. There is merely a cloaked figure seated at the far side, at a massive pipe organ. The musical swells fill the room, mournful notes dancing against the high walls and vaulted ceiling.

Suddenly the melody halts, the player turning to face them. Strahd smiles at his son and his daughter-in-law-to-be. “Good morning.”

“Sorry if we’ve interrupted you,” VII says. “I was just having Virgil show me around the castle.”

“’Tis no problem, I assure you.” He sweeps from the organ with a flourish, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve much to discuss.”

Before any more can be said, a tremor shakes the floor. The three stumble to one side, VII letting out a yelp. “An earthquake?!”

“No.” Strahd has murder in his eyes, and they seem to flash with rage. “ _Van Richten_.”

He races from the room, quick as lightning. Virgil looks concerned, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

“Who’s that?” VII whispers.

“Rudolph van Richten, the vampire hunter. Ezmerelda’s father.” He sighs, biting his lip. “He’s gotten quite bold these days. He seeks my father’s life, as well as mine. He has no knowledge of his daughter’s comings and goings here, for if he did, she would probably be dead by now. I certainly would.”

“Does she hunt them too? Are you sure she isn’t going to… try and stake you or something?” Her skeptic view of others clouds her judgement, and perhaps a hint of jealously does as well.

“No, she’s already tried that.” A small laugh; again, beautiful. “We first met about a year ago, and she did indeed try to eliminate me then. We reached common ground after discovering we were equally matched. I earned her respect, and she mine. We’ve been comrades ever since.”

Another shock hits the castle. “Is Strahd going to kill him?” she asks, again in a hushed tone.

“I doubt it. Rudolph is merely a fly to my father. An annoying fly, but a fly nonetheless. He’ll rage about it for a while and then move on, as he has before.”

As if on cue, Strahd stalks back in the room. His eyes are still glowing, and VII shrinks back involuntarily. “I grow weary of this,” he hisses. “I’m going to hunt down that cur and tear out his throat.” His fangs glisten as he snarls.

“Father,” Virgil interjects quickly. “Why don’t VII and I go looking for him instead? It will give us time to get to know one another better, and then you won’t have to venture out so far on your own.”

Strahd pauses, the anger melting from his face as he considers. “Yes… yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll have you go exterminate the wretch for me, and I can stay here.”

Virgil smiles, nodding. “It shall be done, Father.” He then turns to VII. “Let us go and prepare, with haste.”

Within the hour the pair are ready to leave. Weapons are packed, rations made, horses saddled. VII has never ridden a horse before, and she stands before the sleek, white creature with unease. Virgil helps, lifting her into the seat with little effort. He mounts his own steed: a shiny, soot black stallion.

“These horses are well-trained. Yours should bear you without needing much guidance. Worry not about steering.”

“Okay,” she says distantly, taking notice of how far away the ground now is.

“Come, we make for the village of Barovia.” At his words, the horses begin galloping at a steady pace.

She holds on for dear life at first, but after some time, it grows easier. Finally she can take her eyes from the reins to look around. The landscape is much the same as she’s already seen: bleak sky, worn path, misty trees. All is quiet and still. Virgil rides on her left, and she sneaks glances at him whenever she can. He seems an old hand at riding, and holds himself high. Gods, he looks good. His brow is furrowed, brilliant eyes never straying from the road. How can his hair still look so perfect at the speed they’re riding? The tip of his tongue slips out to run over his bottom lip, and she chokes. Her hips sliding against the saddle suddenly have another purpose.

They ride for some time, eventually coming up on the outskirts of the village. The horses stop, and Virgil offers a strange look. “Before we go any further, there’s something we need to discuss.”

Had he caught her staring? “What is it?” Her voice is shaky.

“Where to begin…” He grits his teeth, fangs poking out. Is there anything he does that’s not attractive to her? “I guess we’ll get the big one out of the way. VII, my father has been lying to you.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Yes. Every single thing he’s said has been a ploy to deceive you. You’re not the first, and unless something is done, you certainly won’t be the last. He lures people here, mostly adventurers, to give himself a bit of sport. Immortality is dreadfully dull for him. And so he toys with people, only to double- cross and kill them, or make them his spawns and concubines.” He frowns. “His kindness to you is a sham, the planned wedding is a sham, it’s _all_ a sham. I’m so sorry.”

Words elude her. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Thoughts finally form coherently in her mind. How could she have been so _stupid_? All her life she’s never trusted anyone for anything, and the first person she chooses to happens to be a deliciously deceiving vampire lord. _Of course_. Anger swells within her. She struggles out of the saddle and onto the hard path, nearly falling onto the stone. A long, loud, frustrated scream leaves her mouth, followed by several choice swears.

Virgil sits patiently and lets her finish. When done, she leans against her horse, panting. “How could I…?” The sentences lump together in her throat. Did the wedding have to be a lie as well? That was just the icing on this abysmal cake. “Stupid…”

“I promise it’s not just you,” he reassures. “This has happened countless times. His vampiric charisma sucks in all who would heed him.” There’s a pause. “My mother included.”

She looks at him curiously. His eyes slide shut. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you. My mother was once a part of these lands, bound to it by the mist’s curse. She was with my father for a time, but managed to escape Barovia, somehow. I was born at a later time, in Baldur’s Gate, and by then she’d married another man. My stepfather is kind enough, but something felt off my entire upbringing. I had no idea I was a dhampir; Mother did a good job of keeping me away from the other children, so I never knew. Not until she was on her deathbed with a heinous illness. That was two years ago, and after she passed on I found my way here, into the hands of my father.

“You read his journal. I planted it there for you to find, hoping this would be easier for you to take if you knew of his past.” Their eyes meet. “I am truly sorry you’ve had to go through all this, VII.”

 _So am I_ , she thinks desperately. “So if I can’t trust him, or anyone else in this godsforsaken world, how do I know I can trust _you_?”

“I suppose you can’t.” His tone is flat. “This is why I stopped you to talk. Going out to find Rudolph was merely an excuse to let us leave the castle without arousing suspicion. We’re actually about the business of trying to break the curse on Barovia, and stop my father from hurting anyone else. I’m not going to make you come with me. Whether or not you believe me is your choice. You can go back to Ravenloft right now, if you wish. But I need you to make a decision.” He holds his hand out to her. “It’s either him or me.”

The thought of this betrayal still stings. She really can’t know for certain who to trust. The idea of choice is as liberating as it is frustrating. She considers for a moment, yet knowing in her heart the option she’ll pick. As sincere as Strahd seems, his honeyed words would have given himself away, if not for the ‘charm’ that Virgil’s mentioned. The dhampir prince merely wants to protect her from his father, and he needs her help with this curse.

She grasps his hand, and he pulls her back into her saddle. “…Let’s be about it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strahd's journal here is pulled directly from Appendix F of the campaign book. Also, I know Rudolph is not usually Ezmerelda's father, but that's just one of the quirks our version of the story has. I think it works rather well.


	6. Mistcutter

“What exactly happened to this village the other day, anyway?”

VII and Virgil ride through the gloomy streets of Barovia. There’s no longer any smoke or fire, as a few nights prior, but everything still looks worn and discouraged.

“Creatures of the night frequently attack. It’s something the villagers have come to expect. Werewolves, and other ilk of that sort.” Virgil’s jaw tightens. “Sometimes my father will send some of his vampire spawn in, just to keep fear in the people’s hearts.”

“Lovely.” The inn she stayed at on her first night comes into view. They lead their horses around to a stable behind the building before heading inside.

“The bartender knows me well here, so you can get whatever you’d like on the house,” he says as they weave in between patrons. It’s busier than one would think for a quiet morning, but they locate a table near the back without much incident.

“Does he know you’re…” She trails off, not wanting to say the word ‘dhampir’ in public, lest she be overheard.

“No, none here do. They merely think me a traveler. We’re here to meet some friends of mine who will help us in this endeavor. I’m glad you decided to join us; we’ll need all the help we can get.” He smiles, and despite the broken-off engagement and no promise of anything coming of it, she still melts inside.

The bartender drops by, and they receive drinks and bread. “While we wait for their arrival, let me fill you in on what we know,” Virgil says as the bartender returns to the counter. “Barovia is a curious place. It has a habit of resetting itself, and there are several different instances of its existence. Each is unique in nature, but with the same people and players. My father is at the center of it. This curse on the land is meant to torture him indefinitely; it’s his burden to bear for selling his soul into darkness. Each time he brings adventurers in, and either he defeats them or they defeat him, a fresh instance is created after some time passes. Victory, or defeat, is fleeting. Most of the inhabitants here, save a few, are soulless husks, doomed to wander for eternity. Those who actually possess an essence are reborn every so often, their souls recycled into new bodies.”

“How do you know all this?” she asks, amazed.

“My father has done extensive research on Barovia in all his time here. I’ve had the privilege of reading through the various books and journals kept in the castle’s library. I don’t claim to know or understand all of it, but what I do know is this: we’re going to have to leave Barovia in order to break this curse. We just need to figure out how.”

Their musings are broken by a shrill call from the entrance. “Alright, where is he?!”

Ezmerelda storms up to the table, grabbing Virgil by his shirt. “What were you _thinking_ , getting engaged right off the bat like that?!” she spits at him.

“Ezmerleda, please, calm down,” he says. VII’s never seen him look so uneasy. “It was merely a ploy by my father. It’s not actually set to happen.” These words are heartbreaking, though she already knows them to be true. Somehow hearing him say it just rubs more salt in her already festering wound.

“Oh.” Ezmerelda steps back, looking sheepish. “Of course. I apologize.” Her eyes flick up to VII. “N-nothing against you of course, VII. I just… seemed hasty… looking out for him…” Her words become muddled before stopping altogether.

“Ah, you must be the lovely lady Virgil mentioned.”

The hairs on the back of VII’s neck stand up as a voice, trying way too hard to sound suave, tickles her skin. A man with sandy blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail grins behind her. “Nice to finally meet you. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Bile rises in VII’s throat as Ezmerelda cuffs the man. “Ismark, _behave_.”

“Now that we’re all here,” Virgil clears his throat, and the man, Ismark, slinks into a chair. “Let’s discuss strategy. But first, introductions are in order. Ezmerelda has already met her, but Ismark, this is VII. VII, this is Ismark, an old friend of ours.”

“VII…” Ismark looks thoughtful. “But that’s a number, not a name.”

She sighs, repeating the same words she spoke to Strahd a few days ago. “I know. It’s the only name I was ever given.”

He says no more on the matter, and Virgil continues. “We’ve all the same goal: to stop my father. I’ve filled VII in on what we know already, so we’re all on the same page.”

“Ismark? I believe you have some intel for us?” Ezmerelda gestures to him.

“Indeed. If my sources are to be believed, there’s a house here in town that the villagers fondly refer to as ‘the Death House.’ There’s something in there, a relic of some sort, that will be of use to us.”

“Excellent. If no one has any objections, I say we head over there as soon as we can.” Virgil nods. “Is everyone ready?”

“We know not what awaits us within those walls,” Ismark says. “We’d best make sure we’re prepared.”

A short time later the four walk through the misty, early afternoon haze towards the Death House. Virgil, Ezmerelda, and Ismark chat idly, but VII remains quiet. Interacting with others, especially those her age, is intimidating. They seem to know so much about the world, and she’s left in the dust.

“You okay, VII?” Ezmerelda lags behind the men to fall in stride with her. “You’ve hardly said a word since we left.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Not quite used to social situations.” Jealousy whispers in her ear. _And you’re mad at her because she’s close with Virgil._

_Shut up,_ she thinks back. It’s not quite a lie, though; seeing the way Ezmerelda holds herself next to Virgil really bristles her skin. Why couldn’t it be _her_ instead? It’s not fair.

“I understand. Meeting new people, especially in a foreign place, can be hard.” Ezmerelda gives a small smile. “I know Ismark didn’t offer the greatest first impression, but it’s just a facade he puts on. He’s actually quite kind and caring.” She snorts. “Even if he did get his information on the Death House from a succubus.”

“A _succubus_? How do we even know we can trust him?” VII blurts before she can stop herself. “Where’s his place in all this?”

Ezmerelda purses her lips. “Look, VII, I know this is all new for you, but there’s something you should know. We all trust each other. Completely. Period. There’s no one else we can turn to on these matters, so we have to rely on each other.” She puts a hand on VII’s shoulder. “Okay?”

_Easy for her to say,_ Jealousy sneers. _She gets to suck up to Virgil._

VII just nods, remaining silent.

The boys lead the way up the curved path to the house. Three stories tower overhead, the brightest thing for miles. The paint is clean and the yard is well-groomed. A front door coated in stained glass opens up into a large antechamber. Beyond is a massive front hall, wooden doors on the far wall and a marble spiral staircase leading up. Everything looks brand new, but eerily hushed.

“Does anyone currently live here?” Ezmerelda whispers as the group makes their way through the downstairs rooms. Elaborate rugs, oil paintings, gold coated statuettes, and velvet furniture surround them on all sides, but they find nothing of note.

“No, it’s been abandoned for decades,” Virgil says. They’re now in the manor’s kitchen, and food, seemingly fresh, sits in the open pantry. He reaches for an apple and gingerly nibbles it. VII bites her lip as his curls back to reveal his fangs. “Which makes all of this very odd.” He places it back on the shelf, swallowing. “Let’s keep looking.”

VII is starting to suspect magic, something she should’ve known all along, as they ascend the stairs. A small library is found on one side of the hall. The group browses the titles, musing over science and history, trying to pinpoint what exactly they should be looking for. VII has rudimentary reading skills, but these topics go way over her head. She meanders through the shelves, sneaking glances at Virgil. He looks so at home, running his elegant fingers along the book spines. She mimics him, tracing a line across golden lettering, thinking of his smile. One book suddenly stands out to her. It’s bigger and bulkier than the rest, and there’s no title. She tries to pull it out, and it feels wooden and hollow.

Something sounds from the corner, and everyone looks up. Her heart nearly stops as one of the shelves creaks open, revealing a secret room. The laboratory that once held her captive was also kept concealed behind a bookshelf entrance.

She shakes the fear off as the group closes in on the alcove. “Where did this come from?” Virgil asks.

“I think it was me,” she says. “I found a fake book and pulled on it.”

“Sharp eyes, VII.” He grins, and her heart sings once again.

There are different kinds of books in here; those on the occult. VII knows little of these things, but she knows enough to realize that they hold fabricated knowledge. Amidst these piles of texts, decayed remains are spider-webbed to a chest, arrows stuck into the bones. A sealed letter is clutched in the left hand. The handwriting is curved and looped, and looks hauntingly familiar.

_My most pathetic servant,_

_I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones that have brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writhing in my earth._

_You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are._

_Your dread lord and master,_

_Strahd von Zarovich_

Her hand quivers, creasing the faded paper. The words make little sense out of context, but one thing is clear: if Virgil’s words were not proof enough, then this missive certainly is. Strahd is a double-crossing menace, one that must be stopped.

Virgil looks over her shoulder. “That’s my father’s insignia,” he murmurs, referring to the wax seal she broke to open the letter. “He definitely penned this, at some point in the past.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you about him.” She sighs. “This says it all. You were right; he’s a monster.”

While they converse, Ismark cautiously opens the chest lid. Inside are a few precious items, but not much else. “Bah, a false lead. There must be _something_ of use to us in this house…”

VII takes a closer look at the woodwork while the others back off, wandering back into the library proper. She’s no stranger to secrets, and something about the bottom of the chest seems off. Perhaps it’s false, and something lies underneath? She lifts it up to check. A hidden mechanism then fires, something sticking into her shoulder. She cries out, grasping at the dart that’s struck her.

“VII!” Virgil rushes in, catching her as she stumbles to the side. He pulls the dart out, cursing. If she hadn’t already been reeling from the strike, she certainly would have been from the sensation of his cool touch.

Ismark kneels next to them, placing his palm over VII’s wound. Strength returns to her as healing pulses through her body.

“T-Thank you,” she gasps. “I should have been more careful…”

“Nonsense. We’re just glad you’re okay.” He pats her arm and helps her up. “What have you found?”

The chest bottom is indeed false, and beneath is a curious sight. A dagger lies in a thick white cloth. Intricate designs weave their way up and down the polished silver hilt. A word is carved into the blade, gleaming crimson: _Mistcutter_. VII reaches for it, captivated, and at her touch it glows. There’s a soft hissing, and a glance out the window of the library reveals the mists around the house to be much thinner than before.

“I think this is what we were looking for,” Ezmerelda breathes, wonder in her eyes.

“Indeed,” Virgil nods. “With this, we should be able to escape Barovia.”

VII twirls the dagger, feeling more appreciated than she ever has before. “I’m glad we found it.” She then offers it to Virgil. It’s his father they’re stopping, after all.

“ _You_ found it, VII,” he says. “’Tis only right you be the one to wield it when the time is right.” Pride swells in her chest at his words, and she sheathes it in her belt.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ismark says quickly, and the party heads back down the marble staircase and through the front hall to the antechamber. They stand, staring at the place where the door should be.

Only it isn’t there.


	7. Shall we Dance?

Ezmerelda curses. “What have we gotten ourselves into this time?”

“Magic,” VII mutters under her breath. “This place reeks of it.”

“I guess there’s nothing for it.” Virgil sighs. “Let’s go back and see if we can find a way out. Keep your guard up.”

The four step back into the front hall. Everything looks the same as before, save one detail: the room is filled with people dressed in fine clothing. Their chatter bounces off the gleaming floor while servants travel to and from the kitchen with trays, offering drinks and sweets. It looks like a ball of some sort is in full swing, and no one seems the least bit concerned by the ragtag group that stands gawking at the scene.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” VII says distantly.

Everyone nods. “What have we gotten ourselves into indeed,” Ismark whispers.

None of the people look familiar, and their attire suggests another era entirely. Questions tumble through VII’s mind. Had they unknowingly traveled back in time? How were they to return to the present? Was this the house’s defense mechanism to prevent the dagger Mistcutter from leaving the premises?

A lone figure weaving through the patrons snaps her out of her inquiries. Virgil’s breath hitches, and the two recognize the man in the same instant. He’s much younger, and much more human, but still very much Strahd von Zarovich.

“Is that…?” VII starts.

“My father.” Virgil makes a beeline for the stairs, which Strahd is now climbing.

“Virgil, wait.” Ezmerelda puts a hand on his shoulder, and VII stiffens. “If we all go after him, it’ll seem suspicious. Whether or not this is merely an illusion, I think we need to be careful. VII and I will follow him, and you and Ismark can stay down here and try to get some information. Okay?”

He sighs again. “You’re probably right. Forgive my rashness. I just…”

“I know.” She offers a sympathetic smile. Jealousy croons in VII’s ear. _If only that were_ you _instead…_

She pushes the thought away as she and Ezmerelda head up the stairs, staying a safe distance behind their quarry. They get strange glances; their attire isn’t quite up-to-par with that of the other attendees. On the second floor is a large ballroom, with couples waltzing to lively music. Strahd is spotted amidst the puffy dresses and long tailcoats. He seems as though he’s looking for somebody. Concern knits his dark eyebrows as he emerges from the room, his search proving fruitless. The two girls try to look unassuming in the hallway as he passes. He narrows his eyes at them, but nothing more, and heads up another flight of stairs.

The pair follow. The top landing opens up to an attic of sorts. Closed doors line the walls, the sconces unlit. Clearly, this floor isn’t intended for guest access. Strahd kneels by one door, ear pressed to the wood. They try to remain hidden from his view, but he catches sight as they come around the banister.

“Why are you following me?!” he scowls at them through clenched teeth. Though he is yet human, he looks much more beast than man in this moment. His eyes are dark and wild. “How did you even gain entrance in those rags?”

“Why are you sneaking about?” VII dares to counter, stepping closer.

“It is _none_ of your business, wench.” He stands to his full height and slaps her harshly across the face. “How _dare_ you ask me such personal things.”

Ezmerelda looks livid, and it seems as though a fight might break out. Something then rings out across the landing that causes each of them to stop cold.

“Sergei…!” A woman’s cry of pleasure seeps out from under the door in front of them. Strahd’s face drains of color, and he turns from the pair back to said door, gingerly opening it and slipping inside. VII feels sick to her stomach, rubbing her reddening cheek. She remembers Sergei to be the name of Strahd’s brother, the one he murdered on the day of his wedding. Could this possibly be…?

Ezmerelda motions her towards the door. _Why me,_ VII thinks desperately as she takes a deep breath and turns the knob. She slowly pokes her head into the elegant bedroom. The bed is a mess of rumpled sheets, and the sliding door to the balcony lies ajar. A young couple laughs and kisses in the moonlight outside. Their lower halves are obscured by the railing, but it’s clear they’re naked. She averts her eyes, and they fall instead on a crumpled form prostrated on the crimson rug.

It’s Strahd.

His body shudders as he takes great heaving breaths, clawing at the carpet. His sobs are so genuine; it catches her completely off-guard. She’s never seen him this vulnerable. Realization sneaks up on her as she watches him. That _must_ be his brother, with Tatiana. They must’ve snuck off during this ball to have some privacy, much to Strahd’s horror and anguish.

Seeing him here, displaying such raw human emotion, causes a twinge in VII’s heart. They’re not so different, him and her. All he ever wanted was love, and was denied it. It drove him to do insane, inhumane things, yes, but… at one time he was merely a man in love. And now she has fallen for his son, who may yet deny her. Only time will tell.

He may be a monster, but his low, broken soul awakens something within her.

Empathy.

Empathy for the lost and fallen.

She quietly shuts the door, turning back to Ezmerelda and explaining the situation. She seems unaffected by the spell of understanding that has befallen VII. “Let’s rejoin the others.”

The two head back down, running into the boys on the staircase leading to the front hall. “Good timing,” Virgil says. “What did you learn?”

They reconvene in the hallway outside the ballroom. VII quietly recounts her tale, while Ismark states what they’ve known all along: that the house has transported them into the past. They’re interrupted mid-conversation by a stern woman.

“You lot! You’re causing a scene with your outlandish garments. Put these on!” She thrusts silky, folded fabric into their hands, pushing them towards a side door. “Get changed!”

“…That was unexpected,” Ezmerelda says, unfolding her bundle. “I guess we’d better do as she says until we find a way out of here. VII, let’s change on this half of the room.”

The two pairs discard their clothes and don eloquent dresses and tuxedos. VII is visibly struggling. “How are you supposed to wear this…?”

Ezmerelda helps, pulling the tight fabric over VII’s head. “Have you never been to a ball before?”

“Never.” VII sighs and gives a brief rundown of her past.

Ezmerelda pulls the ribbons on the back of VII’s dress into a neat bow. “Gods, I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

_You’d better be,_ Jealousy smirks.

“It’s okay. It’s over now.” Why does her dress have to be so tight? Was it tied too tight on purpose? Surely not…

“Let’s live this moment to the fullest, then! We’ll dance and mingle; it’ll be fun!” Ezmerelda pats her on the back.

“If you’re sure,” VII says, more to herself than anyone.

Once everyone is dressed, something becomes apparently obvious. On top of everything fitting perfectly, the outfits are colored coordinated. Amethyst highlights snake along Ezmerelda and Virgil, and emerald does the same for VII and Ismark. VII’s heart sinks a little further.

“VII’s never experienced a ball before,” Ezmerelda reiterates. “So we’re all going out there to have a good time, and then we’ll figure out how to leave.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ismark grins. Virgil holds out his arm, and Ezemerelda loops hers through his. VII hesitantly does the same with Ismark, and the two pairs head downstairs.

“What should we do first?” Ezmerelda looks over her shoulder at VII. “We can dance, sit, whatever you’d like.”

VII’s stomach is still queasy from her encounter with Strahd, and seeing Ezmerelda hanging onto Virgil’s arm isn’t helping. “Let’s sit for a while, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. We’ll go down to the kitchens.”

A short while later the four sit outside on the patio. Food and drink are between them, and the tables around them are bustling with cheery partygoers. VII barely touches her food, merely picking at it occasionally. The evening is warm and balmy, and were she more attentive, she’d surely notice the distinct lack of mist shrouding the horizon. But she doesn’t; instead she’s sneaking glances at Virgil from across the table.

“I’ve been thinking, VII.” Ezmerelda’s voice pulls her from her distant daydream. “Now that your past is behind you, maybe you’d like to have a more traditional name? It’s up to you, of course.”

_Stop trying to butter me up,_ Jealousy barks. _This changes_ nothing _about the current situation._

VII pauses for a moment. “Well… I don’t know what I’d change it to. I’ve just always been VII. No more, no less.”

“That’s just fine. I just wanted to extend the offer.” Ezmerelda smiles, and the others nod in agreement. VII stays silent.

Some time passes. After chatting and eating a bit, Ismark clears his throat. “Well, shall we all go and dance for a while?”

VII looks unsure, but Ezmerelda brightens. “That sounds lovely. Are we all ready?” She claps Virgil on the back and he jumps slightly, as though he, too, was lost in a daydream.

“Very well. Just…” VII won’t meet anyone’s gaze. “Go easy on me, okay?”

There’s a mutual agreement, and they each stand and head up to the ballroom.

The room is just as spirited as before—couples twirl and spin while music directs their actions. The four break off into pairs: VII and Ismark, Ezmerelda and Virgil. Despite VII’s past, she does in fact have some familiarity with dancing. Ismark’s steps are more uncertain than hers as they begin a spritely waltz.

“You’re quite good,” he pants, sweat beading on his forehead. “I thought you said you didn’t have any experience?” His grip on her is tight.

“No personal experience, no.” She again recounts her upbringing. “Sometimes I was able to slip up to the bookshelves housing the lab and snag a book. It didn’t matter what is was on; just having the freedom to read something of my own jurisdiction was enough. One of the books was on dancing.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says solemnly. “No one should have to go through something like that.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad it’s over.” She looks over his shoulder at Ezmerelda and Virgil. Their movements are the picture of elegance, and Ezmerelda’s dress swirls as they spin gracefully. Her heart screams.

“Well, you’re very lovely to dance with.” He offers a genuine smile.

His compliment slides right off her jealous back, but she smiles back all the same. “Thank you.”

The song ends, and she watches Ezmerelda place a small kiss on Virgil’s cheek and whisper something in his ear. This time her heart forgoes screaming and simply stops altogether. Images of Strahd weeping upstairs fill her view. Is this how he feels? Betrayed by one he merely wishes to love?

Ezmerelda catches her gaze. “Shall we switch partners?”

VII then takes Virgil’s hands. His cool touch sends shivers up her spine. He looks so dashing in his tuxedo, pushing loose hair out of his eyes. Her hand shakily grasps his shoulder while his slides down her side. The motion makes her head spin. The music starts again, and they begin a slow waltz.

Despite Virgil’s adeptness, his mind seems elsewhere. Her half-dazed brain takes notice, somehow. “Are you alright? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he says softly. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

“I understand how that feels,” she says cryptically. “A lot has happened this evening.”

“Don’t let my solemnity spoil the fun.” He smiles. “You are a rather good dancer.”

She resists the urge to squeal. “T-Thanks. I learned a bit from snippets of books I read.”

“Impressive.” He spins her around and her heart leaps up into the night sky. “You’re a resilient girl, VII.”

“I’m trying my best.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ismark struggling and Ezmerelda laughing and leading him along. Their chemistry is strong, but definitely platonic. _Stay away from Virgil,_ Jealousy hisses.

All too soon the song ends, and there’s a voice behind her. “May I have this dance, milady?”

Sergei von Zarovich stands with his hand outstretched.

VII swallows hard. “…Sure.” She takes it, not knowing what else to do.

Virgil uncertainly accepts Sergei’s redheaded partner, presumably Tatiana, and the next tune begins playing. Seeing him now up close, she notes how he’s the spitting image of Strahd—jet black hair, smooth skin, dark eyes—albeit younger and perhaps a little more handsome. It’s unnerving for her, knowing she’s dancing with a man who will die on his wedding day.

“Sorry if I interrupted something.” His voice is as warm and soft as his skin. “My partner and I should not be seen together for too long, so we enjoy switching with others from time to time.”

“That’s fine.” She glances at Virgil, who’s struck up a calm conversation with Tatiana. This is so _surreal_. Her steps are steady, but her heart hammers in her chest.

“What is your name?” he asks.

“S—” She chokes. She can’t say ‘VII’; that’ll seem too strange. “…Samantha,” she finally squeezes out.

“’Tis a pleasure. I am Sergei.” He smiles. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What brings you to Barovia?”

“I... I’m visiting family.” Is Virgil just as uncomfortable as she is? Her movements feel heavy as she wonders if Strahd is still sobbing upstairs.

“I trust your stay has been pleasant thus far?” Sergei inquires.

A strange thought crosses her mind as she looks over at Virgil once again. She’s never going to see any of these people again, Sergei included. So…

“It’s been good, yes, but… do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head. “What do you require?”

“Well…” She indicates towards Tatiana. “You seem like you know your way around a relationship, and… I was wondering if you could give me some advice. I don’t have much experience, and I don’t know… how to tell him or approach him about it.”

He follows her gaze to Virgil, realization washing over him. “Ah, yes, I see. Very well. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

She waits with bated breath as he continues. “You’re young, Samantha. You have all the time in the world to learn, to live. Finding your one-and-only is not easy, but the journey can still be satisfying and rewarding. Don’t rush it; love is sure to come to you in time. And it may come from unexpected places.” He winks. “You’ll find him, I’m sure of it. Maybe it’ll be this gentleman here, or another lucky man.”

“Thanks,” she says genuinely. “That means a lot to hear.” All she knows of romance comes from the books she pilfered at the lab. Heartwarming love stories and sensual romance novels taught her little of the real world, although they were a thrill to read. Daydreaming in the darkness of her cell of pure, innocent love kept her going during those hopeless times.

The current song, too, comes to an end. Sergei kisses her hand. “’Twas a pleasure. Take care, Samantha.”

“You too, Sergei,” she says, a twinge in her stomach at the thought of his future.

He and Tatiana interlace their fingers and disappear into the crowd. Virgil wipes his forehead. “That was… something else. You okay, VII?”

“I’m fine,” she says, getting lost in his crimson gaze. “We should probably find a way to get out of here now, though, don’t you think?” _As much as you’d love to dance with him again,_ Jealousy muses. _Sergei gave good advice, but you still want_ him _, and only him, don’t you?_

They meet up with Ezmerelda and Ismark, who missed seeing VII and Virgil’s dance partners from the past. Idle chatter takes the four back upstairs to their belongings. Once they emerge from the side door in their usual outfits, it is noticeably silent. No one dances in the ballroom, and no one plays any music. No one chats in the front hall, and no servants bring out drinks. The illusion is broken, leaving naught but an empty, clean house.

The front door is right where it’s supposed to be, and the group steps back outside into the cold, misty evening. Why had the house kept them trapped in the past, only to release them later on? Perhaps they’ll never know.

“The hour is late.” Ismark breaks the silence. “My home is here in the village. Let’s sleep there for the night, and then tomorrow we can come up with a plan.”

The walk is uneventful, and leads them to a large, old house. Despite its age, the interior is cozy. “There’s three bedrooms upstairs,” Ismark says. “Take your pick.”

VII finds herself staying in the master bedroom by herself. Next door is Ismark, and down the hall is a room with two beds, housing Ezmerelda and Virgil. She tries to contain her rage and agony every time she thinks on it. Why _them?_ Fate seems out to get her.

There’s a knock on her door. “Yes?”

Ismark pokes his head in the doorway. “Sorry to bother you.” In his hands is a tray with a mug. “I thought you might want something warm to drink; it’s quite cold tonight.”

“Oh, thanks,” she says absentmindedly.

He places the tray on the bedside table. “I appreciate you helping out in this effort to stop Strahd. It means a lot to me, and Ireena.”

“Ireena?” She forgets her rage for a moment.

“Aye, my sister. Strahd has… taken a fancy for her, and it is my only wish to see her to safety. If we can get her out of Barovia, she’ll be free from his clutches. She’ll be sleeping now, but I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”

“I was wondering what your motivation was for fighting against Strahd.” A pang runs through her at his selflessness; shame on her for doubting him earlier. “That’s very noble of you.”

“Just doing what I think is right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I won’t keep you up any longer. Get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”

He takes his leave, and she sips at the steaming tea mug. Very quickly her thoughts return to Ezmerelda, sleeping in the same room as Virgil, and she’s jealous and angry all over again.

Her dreams are filled with passionate sessions with Virgil. Every imaginable position, every imaginable angle… it’s simply divine. But when it’s his turn to claw at the sheets, his turn for sweet release, it’s not her name that slips from his groaning lips, but Ezmerelda’s. Her view shifts from first person to third, and she witnesses Ezmerelda make love to him in her place.

Her screams are silent, but they nevertheless awaken her in a cold, sickly sweat.


	8. The Visitor

“Good morning, VII.”

Ismark smiles as VII stumbles into the downstairs dining room. He’s sliding omelets onto chipped plates before Ezmerelda and Virgil. “How do you like your eggs?”

VII won’t look at the pair, her face hot with embarrassment from her dreams last night. “However you want; I’m not picky.” She sits and slowly eats while the others begin discussing strategy.

“So.” Virgil laces his fingers together, not unlike his father. “Now that we have the means to escape Barovia, that leaves us with the task of _where_ exactly we want to exit from. My father will be suspicious of VII and me if we aren’t moving towards the west soon, since that’s where Rudolph is known to reside. We should probably find somewhere out that way to slip away from.”

“Vallaki is a good place to start,” Ezmerelda says. “The lake grounds are right at the edge of the mountain range, and the borders of Barovia. My father is usually in and around the city, so it shouldn’t come across as suspicious.”

“I was going to suggest Vallaki also,” Ismark agrees. “That’s where I intended to take Ireena before our plan to leave Barovia outright came to fruition.”

“Then it’s settled.” Virgil nods. “We should travel separately, so as not to draw attention. VII and I will go ahead first, and you two can follow a few hours behind with Ireena.”

VII nearly chokes on her eggs. _Now we’re talking,_ Jealousy purrs.

“It will take some time to get the supplies needed,” he continues. “Ezmerelda, why don’t you come with me to get the cart and horses?”

VII bites her lip. _60 to 0 in two seconds._

“Of course.” The pair head out after thanking Ismark for breakfast.

“They’ll probably be back within the hour,” Ismark says, beginning to clear the table. “I’d suggest getting your affairs in order in the meantime.”

“There’s not much to get in order,” she mumbles, standing. “Can I help you with the dishes?”

He looks surprised, pleasantly. “If that is your wish.”

She hands him plates to wash in the basin of the small kitchen. “How long have you known Ezmerelda and Virgil?” she asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, a while,” he says. “I knew Ezmerelda first; she stumbled upon me training near the outskirts of Vallaki, actually. That’s where she grew up. Her father never wanted her to practice his craft, since he deemed it too dangerous. That didn’t stop her, of course. Everything she knows of fighting the night she taught herself, and she is _quite_ good. We spent a lot of our youth practicing together.”

She thinks for a moment. “And her and Virgil… are they… anything?”

He laughs. “For the moment, no. I know Ezmerelda harbors affection for Virgil, but whether or not he’ll reciprocate those feelings is up to him. I’m not sure even he himself knows where he stands on how he feels about her.”

“I see.” That’s… promising, maybe.

When the dishes are done, she wanders back into the dining room. There’s a bookshelf on the far wall, and she’s scanning the titles when someone comes up behind her.

“Oh, do you like to read? You can take any of those, if you’d like.”

A young woman with fiery red hair stands by the stairs. Her tan skin and reserved yet bold presence remind VII heavily of Sergei’s late fiancé. “Are you Ireena?” she asks.

“I am, yes,” Ireena replies. “You must be VII. Ismark told me about you. I really appreciate you helping us.”

“Glad I can help. I come from a background of imprisonment and restriction, so I’m happy to assist anyone who wishes to escape from that.” VII looks back to the shelf. “You really don’t mind if I take one of these?”

“Please, do. We’ve read them all already. I’d love to pass some on to a new reader.”

VII picks an unassuming book with a dark cover. The title _The Blood Rose_ is printed in tidy crimson cursive across the front. It’s merely a typical romance novel, but it makes for a nice diversion until Ezmerelda and Virgil return.

Once everyone is back together, VII and Virgil saddle their horses from the previous morning. It feels like a lifetime ago to her.

“We make for Vallaki. We should arrive before nightfall.” Virgil glances over his shoulder. “We’ll see you three tonight.” With a wave, they’re off.

Being on the road again with Virgil is thrilling. The early afternoon air is still as damp and chilly as ever, but it hardly phases her. For the next several hours, it’s just her and Virgil.

She tries to make small conversation. “So, Ismark told me about Ireena. It’ll be good to get her out of Barovia and away from Strahd.”

“Indeed,” he says. “They lost their father not too long ago, so other than Ismark, there’s not much left for her in these lands. My father has hunted her relentlessly as long as he’s known of her existence. He believes her to be Tatiana reborn, and she very well could be. As I’ve mentioned, those who possess souls here are recycled every so often into new beings.”

The pair fall silent again. She tries desperately to find the courage to say what she really wants to. There probably won’t be a better time, when they can be alone like this. “I’m really grateful for this.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For finding you, and the others. I’ve never known companionship, and I’ve only ever been taken advantage of and strewn around at others’ leisure. That was destined to happen again it seems, with your father, but you prevented it. I’m so glad you trusted me enough to bring me along on your adventure.”

“Of course, VII.” He smiles. _What a sight._ “We’re happy to have you along.”

“I love…” She can’t bring herself to say it. How can the books make it look so _easy?_ “…having these new growing friendships. It’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” Silence again, and besides a few uttered phrases throughout, it remains as such for the rest of their journey.

The sun is beginning to set as they approach a pair of iron gates. Pikes with wolfish heads speared atop them line the pathway, and the two guards flanking the entrance eye the travelers warily. “What bring s’ya here?” one questions.

VII glances at Virgil, who thankfully takes the lead. “We’re here to meet with Rictavio.”

“Ah, Rictavio. He’s a bit o’ a nutter, ain’t he?” The other guffaws. “Go on, then.”

The guards let them through without any incident. The city beyond is much larger than the village of Barovia. Things are less dreary here, but the colors remain just as muted. “Who’s Rictavio?” VII asks once they’re out of earshot.

“Rudolph’s alter ego,” Virgil responds quietly. “He masquerades as a senile old man, when in reality he’s a fearsome vampire hunter.”

He leads them down the cobblestone paths to the inn, bearing the name _Blue Water Inn_. They leave their horses in the stable, just as before.

“Virgil!” The bartender greets them warmly as they enter the building. He’s a man with a stocky build and a kind face. “It’s been a while, my boy! How ya been, then? Who’s this lovely lady?”

“I’ve been just fine, Urwin,” Virgil says, sitting at a vacant table. “And this is VII, my traveling companion.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says quietly.

Urwin shakes both their hands with a strong grip. “Same to you, my dear! A friend o’ Virgil’s is a friend o’ mine, I tell ya! Order whatever ya like, no need to pay!”

Virgil orders a drink, and Urwin hustles back to the bar. “Anythin’ for ya, dear?” he asks VII as he returns to slide a mug across the table.

“Just water, please,” she says, and he duly brings a glass out to her.

“We’ll also be needing accommodations for five people, if possible,” Virgil says.

“That’ll be jus’ fine. I’ll bring out the keys.”

They then sit for a while in the bustling bar, sipping at their beverages and eating a light supper. VII feels sluggish and tired, and the people around them are a bit overwhelming. She watches Virgil drink his dark liquid, suddenly thinking of Strahd. “What’s it like?” she asks.

He arches an eyebrow, swirling his cup. “The alcohol? It’s not great, but I mean, it’s free, so…”

“No, I mean… what’s _blood_ like?” She speaks barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never had it. I’d quite like to keep it that way.”

Silence falls again. A couple off to their left giggles and holds hands under the table, and VII’s stomach twinges. All her courage drained away with her last question.

“Do you mind if I head up to the room?” she asks finally. “I’m just a little tired after the trip here.”

“Of course. Take one of the keys.”

She trudges up the staircase, dragging her feet on the carpet. The key turns in the first door she tries, revealing a small room with two beds. It’s not quite as cozy as Ismark’s house, but it’s once again much nicer than anything she’s used to. She sits on the edge of one bed, forlornly swinging her feet. Why does talking to him have to be so _hard?_ Maybe if he wasn’t so charming, she’d be able to pull herself together. That’s been rather difficult, however, ever since the called-off engagement and Ezmerelda’s introduction. To distract herself, she decides to go through the small number of belongings she possesses.

A couple of objects tumble onto the bed from a small wooden chest: a cracked mirror, a half-empty tinderbox, the remains of a torch… there’s also a broken porcelain figurine of a dancer, which she’s had since before she can remember. Is it from her parents? Did she merely find it in some corner of the lab? Her memory simply doesn’t go back far enough to know. The book Ireena gave her falls to the blanket as well. The bookmark she’s using flutters to the floor; it’s the card given to her by Clay, the Vistani man, at the beginning of her journey. She gives it another glance. The untidy handwriting gives an address for an encampment somewhere near Vallaki, which is oddly convenient.

“Hello, VII.”

She nearly jumps out of her skin. Standing to the side is Strahd von Zarovich.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says calmly. “I was merely checking in to see how things are going for you and my son.”

“How did you get here?” she finds herself asking. Clay’s card crumples in her hand as she holds it in a death grip.

“Oh, I can travel around as I please. As easy as passing between shadows.” He sits next to her. “I presume Virgil is downstairs drinking himself into a stupor?”

“Probably,” she replies. He’s radiating cold, and she bites her tongue to keep her teeth from chattering.

He laughs. “As expected. He won’t get drunk, lest you worry. Alcohol doesn’t affect vampires and dhampirs the way it affects humans. He merely understands the importance of…” He pauses to unbutton his outer coat, revealing a thin undershirt and sheen, pale skin. “Unwinding.”

Red creeps onto her cheeks.

“So, are you two getting along? Do you require anything from me?” He laces his fingers together.

“No, I think we’re fine,” she squeaks. “I enjoy talking to him and getting to know him better.” Is her voice as wavered as she fears it is?

“Very good. Very good.” He looks at her, a distant gaze in his scarlet eyes. “How delightful that you get to gallivant about as you please, so young and carefree…” He brushes the side of her neck with his hand. “Ah, yes, to be young again…”

She stays completely still, fear freezing her in place. His head tilts and he seems to catch himself, withdrawing his hand. He clears his throat. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll leave you be, then. Have a pleasant evening, VII.”

“Thank you,” she hears herself say. He walks over to the far corner of the room and melts into the shadows, disappearing from view.

Dread seeps through her being as she continues to stare at the place where he vanished. It swims in and out of focus as her heart pounds. If he can just pop in whenever he pleases, does that mean he knows about their trip to the Death House, and about Mistcutter? Can he listen in on their conversations without being seen? Does he know about their plan to leave Barovia?

She tries to calm down. If he _did_ know about the plan, he could have just killed her right then. She’d be no match for his vampiric strength. But the fact that he used such flowered and honeyed words must mean he’s still trying to deceive her. They should still be safe, at least for a little longer.

The room suddenly seems much less comfortable. She lays out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her heart aches, among other things. Frustration, both angry and sexual, continues to build within her. Anger at Ezmerelda and her own self, attraction for Virgil, confused empathy for Strahd… it’s all bound to spill over at some point.

The night wears on and she dozes off, unaware that her hand is firmly down the front of her pants.


	9. Rictavio

Cold light filters into the room as VII stirs. Her meager belongings are still scattered on the bed around her, and Ismark lies in the next bed over. He greets her as she sits up. “Morning.”

“Hey.” She holds her head, recalling the previous night. Had that been a dream, or was it real? The corner where Strahd vanished into shadow is much brighter now in the daytime, but it still fills her with a sense of dread. “I need to speak with Virgil,” she says quickly.

“He’s in the next room over,” he replies rather stiffly. “There’s three beds in there, and since you were… sleeping so soundly when we arrived last night, I opted for this room so as not to disturb you.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble by picking this room instead of the one with three beds, since then I could have been with Ezmerelda and Ireena.” Once again Ezmerelda and Virgil slept in the same room, but it doesn’t sting quite as much this time, since Ireena was there as well.

“It’s quite alright.” His tone softens. “They should be up and about, if you want to go check.”

She hurries to the neighboring door, knocking softly. “Yes?” Ezmerelda’s voice answers.

VII pokes her head in the doorway. The three sit on their respective beds, now looking over at her. “Virgil, can I speak with you?”

“Certainly.” He rises, already dressed. “Let’s meet out in the hallway.”

They stand by the banister overlooking the bar, which is quiet this morning. “What is it?” he asks, voice lowered.

She glances around, worried Strahd might materialize before them at any moment. Despite the closeness of their bodies, her fear overpowers her attraction. “…I saw your father last night. He came to visit me.”

He doesn’t look as concerned as she feels he should. “I see. He’ll do that from time to time with the people he brings to Barovia. Sometimes he’ll try to convince them to join him. He doesn’t have to do that with you, of course, since he thinks you’re already in the palm of his hand. What did he say to you?”

“Just that he was checking up on the two of us, and asked if we needed anything. To which I replied no, and then he took his leave.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it then. I highly doubt he has any idea as to what we’re planning, and once we leave Barovia, it won’t matter anymore.” He then looks hesitant. “…Actually, while I’ve got you here, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Her desire then flares. “What is it?”

“Well… what sorts of things do girls usually enjoy receiving as gifts?”

Her heart stops. Who is he asking this for? Her? Ezmerelda? “Uh, well, I don’t have much experience with gifts… but from what I know of books and romance stories, flowers are good, or some sort of sweet, or perhaps a kind of jewelry. Does that help?”

“It does indeed. Thank you.” He hurries downstairs and out of sight. If this little charade is for Ezmerelda, she might just scream. With not much else to do, she decides to slink down to the bar and read in the corner. First, she retrieves her book and belongings from the room, finding it empty. That’s odd; she doesn’t remember seeing Ismark leave while talking to Virgil. The window is open, but she pays it little mind as she heads out, book in hand.

_The Blood Rose_ continues to be a nice diversion to read through. She finds herself once again daydreaming about Virgil. If she were like the maiden in the story, they could travel through the mystic forest together to meet with the witch queen, and Virgil would save her from the quicksand, and they would slowly but surely fall deeply in love…

“VII? I’ve been looking for you.”

She looks up to a disheveled Ismark, his face bright red. In his shaking hands is a small, velvet box. “I, uh… This is for you.”

Inside is a silver bracelet, with a charm of an amethyst-studded axe hanging down. Her eyes widen as she slips it on. It fits perfectly, despite her unusually skinny wrist. This is not what she was expecting when Virgil asked her that question. “This is… lovely. What brought this on?”

“Well…” He shuffles his feet. “I know how hard your past was for you, and you’ve probably never received a proper present in your entire life. So, I wanted to express my appreciation of you. We’re all so happy to have you along with us, VII, and this can just be a reminder of that.” He smiles.

“Thank you,” she says genuinely. _Wrong one,_ Jealously frowns, but she ignores it. “You’re right; I really haven’t been given a gift before. This is such a nice surprise.”

_Liar,_ Jealousy continues. _You wanted to receive this from Virgil instead, and you know it._ While that may be true, she still appreciates the gesture from Ismark, whether or not it was merely friendly or actually romantically inclined.

“I’m glad you like it,” he stutters, sitting down at her table. The other three join them shortly thereafter, and the group then begins quietly talking strategy.

The loud bang of the front door shatters their conversation. A booming voice sweeps across the room. “Alright, where is he?!” In the doorway is an older man in disheveled clothing. His bushy eyebrows knit together as he pushes his way through the few patrons. “Where is he?!”

Ezmerelda ducks down, as does Virgil. VII puts two and two together: that must be Rudolph, disguised as Rictavio. Who could he be asking for? Surely not…Virgil…?

He sits down at the bar, clapping his hands. “Where’s Urwin? I need a drink!”

They all let out a silent sigh of relief. Said bartender attends to Rictavio, who continues to speak boisterously about nothing in particular.

“You have to get out of here,” Ezmerelda breathes to Virgil. “If he sees you, it’s over.” For once, VII agrees with her.

Virgil complies and creeps out of the bar, with Rictavio none the wiser. The rest of them sit and chat idly, but Ezmerelda is clearly on edge. Her father continues to drink and all too soon is completely plastered. His slurred shouts carry around the bar, and she suddenly stands. “I’m going upstairs for a while.”

They watch her ascend out of sight. Before VII can say anything, Rictavio is suddenly there at their table, making advances on her. His eyes, even when this intoxicated, have the same untamed glint as Ezmerelda’s. “Well, hullo thur. Whut’s’ya say we go fin’ sumwhur mur private, eh?”

She just stares at him, mute, unsure what to say. Ismark stands, speaking sternly. “I think her answer is clear. Leave her alone.”

Rictavio sneers, spitting on the floor. “Get outta thuh way. I’ve got wumun to bed.”

Ismark then punches him hard in the jaw. Everyone gasps, and Urwin comes up to them. “Alright, alright, Rictavio, you've had your fun. Now get your drunk arse out of my bar before I whup it out for ya!”

Rictavio grumbles some curses under his breath, but stalks outside regardless. “Sorry ‘bout him,” Urwin says. “Can’t handle his ale, I’m afraid. Curious old chap, he is.”

Ismark sits back down. “…Thank you,” VII whispers. “For standing up for me.”

He smiles weakly. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Maybe someone should go check on Ezmerelda,” Ireena says. “Now that he’s gone.”

“I’ll do it,” VII volunteers. She heads upstairs, knocking on the far door. “Ezmerelda?”

“Come in,” she hears, and enters. Ezmerelda sits on her bed, hair disheveled and eyes puffy. She must’ve been crying. “Oh, hello VII.” She manages a smile.

“Your father’s gone,” VII says, walking into the room. “He’s… interesting.”

“He’s _awful_ ,” Ezmerelda croaks, swiping at her face. “I’m so sorry you had to witness him when he’s like that. He’s never been smart about his alcohol consumption, and… I just couldn’t bear to see him that way. Not again.”

Sympathy begins creeping up on VII. Jealousy protests. _Remember Virgil. Remember their dance. And remember the_ kiss _._

“Sorry,” Ezmerelda continues, standing. “Let me just get myself together, and I’ll be downstairs. Now that _he’s_ gone, we can begin our journey out to the lake, and out of Barovia.” She takes a brush to her hair, pulling it back into loose pigtails.

“Have you seen Virgil?” VII asks, sitting on the bed opposite her.

Ezmerelda seems to stiffen. “I’m not sure where he went, no.”

“I wish I could figure him out,” VII hears herself say. “This is all so… _complicated_. Just trying to function around people my own age is hard enough, let alone—”

She stops abruptly, firstly because she can’t believe she’s opening up like this to someone she’s so jealous of, and secondly because Ezmerelda has started crying. “I wish I could figure him out too,” she gets out, her voice cracking. “But all I’ve done is make a right mess of things.”

Concern clouds VII’s face. “What do you mean…?”

Ezmerelda hiccups. “It was so stupid! I came up here to escape my father, and Virgil happened to be in here, waiting him out as well. I was so distraught about everything that happened this morning, from my father to _this_ ,” She tugs at a silver bracelet around her neck that VII failed to notice. “That I jumped him. We’ve vowed to only ever remain friends, as things would get complicated fast given our backgrounds, but I…” She pauses, swallowing hard. “He didn’t try to stop me, and one thing led to another and, well… When he’d finished, he sat up and looked positively horrified, and then threw himself out the window and out into town.” Tears stream down her face.

Ezmerelda and Virgil had sex. That fact alone should be enough to send VII into a murderous rage. But Jealousy is strangely silent. There’s no screaming or name-calling, no hatred or outrage, no nothing. There is merely something that beats Jealousy into resignation. The same sort of something she felt watching Strahd weep bitterly on the floor of the Death House.

Sympathy.

Sympathy for the mistaken and heartbroken.

“I don’t mean to burden you with my blunders,” Ezmerelda mumbles, sinking to the bed. “I just…”

VII places her hand over Ezmerelda’s. “No. it’s okay.” She gives a small, reassuring smile. “It’s honestly nice to know I’m not the only one struggling with placing feelings for him.”

Ezmerelda looks surprised. “Has he captivated you too, then?”

VII nods. “I’ll admit, I thought it was more obvious.”

Ezmerelda laughs. “Mayhap I’ve been so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I haven’t noticed. There’s something you should know, though.” Her face becomes serious. “Virgil, although only half vampire, carries the same vampiric charm as a fully-fledged one. I don’t think he can control it, and he may not even know he has it at all, but regardless, it’s still there. He is a good-natured gentleman, most of the time,” she mutters under her breath. “But it’s important to be aware of the charms he possesses, since they can cloud one’s judgement. I would know.”

VII lets these words sink in. They make a lot of sense. Of _course_ Virgil would have vampiric charm. And here she was thinking it must be something more, because they were to be engaged, and these strong feelings must mean _something_. All it is, however, is more supernatural attraction. It’s a little different than with Strahd, since she doubts Virgil means to lead her or even Ezmerelda on, and he’s a genuine, kind person, and yet… it’s still hard to hear. But not as hard as she feared.

“Thank you for the insight. It… makes a lot of sense. I’ve no real experience with men or love or anything, and it was foolish of me to think it was ‘true love’ or something written up in a romance story, just because of the strong attraction alone.” Her stomach goes sour.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” says Ezmerelda. “As you said, you don’t have much practice. It’s all a learning process, even for those of us who’ve had relationships in the past. Trust me.”

“I’m so sorry.” VII bites her lip. “I’ve been so jealous of you these past few days. From the outside, you seemed to have everything together, and Virgil wrapped around your finger. Which, even if that were true, would be reasonable, because you’ve known each other a long time. _I’ve_ known him a grand total of three days, and yet there I was, angry and frustrated with you. Seeing you like this, however, has opened my eyes. I apologize for being harsh, and for what has befallen you.”

“VII…” Ezmerelda smiles. “Thank you for your transparency. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, I assure you. As I’ve said, we all trust each other. And if stupid, misunderstood feelings get in the way at times, so be it. We’ll all work through them, together.”

VII returns her smile, eyes falling on the silver necklace. “Did he give that to you this morning, then? I was wondering why he was asking me about gifts. He must’ve passed the advice onto Ismark as well.” She holds up her wrist.

“Indeed. Seems like we’ve both got complicated things on our plates.” Ezmerelda sighs. “But let me tell you: _this_ ,” She grabs at VII’s bracelet. “Would be much easier to seek after than _this_.” She grasps her necklace again.

VII isn’t sure how she feels about that. Ezmerelda is probably right, and her fiery lust for Virgil has definitely simmered down a bit, but she doesn’t really have romantic feelings for Ismark as of now.

“I think I’m going to play it safe and just keep everything platonic for the time being. I’ve got a lot to learn, anyway,” she says.

“Probably a wise choice. No reason to rush things; you’ve got lots of time.” Ezmerelda nods. “I’m feeling much better now. Thanks for talking with me, VII. Let’s head down and rejoin the others.”

The two girls return to Ismark and Ireena. “Are we ready to head out?” he asks.

“Where is Virgil?” his sister inquires. “Shouldn’t we wait for him first?”

“The longer we delay, the more dangerous this becomes,” VII says. “Strahd’s already checked in with me once, and I fear he may do so again soon. We need to escape before that happens.”

“Virgil knows we’re leaving by way of the lake and the mountains,” Ezmerelda says. “With any luck, we’ll run into him on our way there.” She still looks a bit pale, but steels herself all the same. VII admires her resolve.

“Very well. Let’s go.” At Ismark’s words, the four leave the inn and make their way up to Lake Zarovich—an ironic, fitting name. It’s a quiet, foggy day, and mist rolls off the surface of the water. Wooden boats bump against one another along the shore, floating in the silence. They sit, two to a boat, and row across. The ride is uneventful, and there’s no sign of Virgil; nor is there any sign of him when they reach the opposite side.

The mountain air is chilly and cuts through their clothes. Snow patches collect in shadowed crevasses, and grow larger and more frequent as they climb. Conversation is quick and hushed, the only other sounds coming from the wind whistling through the trees above them. VII fears for Virgil. Even though he hurt Ezmerelda, surely they can work through it. Leaving him behind would be devastating.

She’s contemplating saying something to the group about going back to look for him when there’s a sharp pain in her side. Mistcutter is pressed into her belt, and is now glowing in the gloom. She pulls it out to look at it, and the handle is very warm to the touch. It suddenly sears her hand and she drops it with a cry, the others stopping at the noise. The snow hisses as the daggers falls, and the ground lurches. Each of them lose their footing, sliding down the icy slope.

Their tumble leaves them in a forested clearing, devoid of winter. It's quite balmy, and birds chirp in the branches. The more curious thing, however, is the distinct lack of mist, and the fact that sunlight streams through the leaves, dappling the forest floor.


	10. The Silver Spoon

“Is everyone alright?”

The four scrape themselves up from the ground. “I’m fine,” Ezmerelda says in response to VII.

“All good here.” Ismark helps Ireena up. “What happened…?”

“I don’t think we’re in Barovia anymore.” VII checks her surroundings, and Mistcutter is noticeably absent. Her heart sinks a few feet. _We left Virgil behind._

“Let’s get out of these woods, see if we can get our bearings,” Ezmerelda says, and they walk the short distance to the edge of the tree thicket. Hilly grasslands line the horizon, the sun shining in a bright blue sky. VII squints against the brightness; it’s been a while since she’s seen pure sunlight. Looking around at her companions, however, reminds her of something: none of them have ever seen the sun in the first place. They all stare skyward, amazement on their warming faces.

“It’s so… _bright_ ,” Ismark admits.

“I know it’s a new, amazing thing,” VII says. “But don’t look directly at it, it’ll hurt your eyes.” Even in the darkness of the lab, she’d catch glimpses of sunbeams from the windows near the secret entrance. Gallivanting about in it is still fresh for her, but the idea of living without ever seeing the sun at all is so foreign. It must feel incredibly liberating, not unlike when she first stepped out into the world.

Ezmerelda cranes her neck. “I think there’s a town up there a ways. Should we head that way?”

Everyone looks at VII. She holds up her hands. “Look, I know the outside world is more familiar to me than you, but keep in mind, I was confined in a lab up until a few weeks ago. I don’t know much more than you do.”

“That’s all well and good, but you still have a lead on us regardless.” Ismark winks. “Wouldn’t want the sun to get in our eyes while we’re trying to navigate, right?”

VII smiles, accepting defeat. “Very well. Yes, let’s head over there.”

To the birds above, they must look like dark splotches—inky dots moving across the radiant landscape. The afternoon is warm, and VII would be afraid of sunburn, if she weren’t so focused on Virgil. They four are free from Barovia, but he’s still trapped. _With his father._ If Strahd were to find out about this…

A shudder runs through her. “You okay?” Ismark asks her, taking notice.

“I’m worried for Virgil. We weren’t supposed to leave him behind…”

“I know. But there’s not much we can do about it now. We’ll just have to keep moving, and get back to him soon. He’s tough, he’ll be okay.”

“I suppose…” VII trails off. Ismark’s right: it’s not like that can go back. Even if they wanted to, they don’t know how yet. Hopefully that information will come with the solution to breaking the curse. But how long will it take to find the answers? The clock has started ticking on their quest, and she inadvertently quickens her pace.

After some time, a massive, sprawling city looms into view. It’s much larger than anything any of them have ever seen. Everything is brilliant and pristine; buildings gleam and reflect light as people bustle about on the clean streets. The group’s dark clothing, so at home in Barovia, is now the outlier against the throng’s vivid outfits. All four mouths hang open.

Two guards flank the grand gate leading inside. They pay the group little mind, letting them through with no questions asked. “Welcome to Elturel,” one says, nodding.

They step through, even more overwhelmed after crossing over the threshold into the city proper. “I’ve never seen so many people,” Ireena murmurs, and the others nod in agreement.

“Are all places on the outside like this?” Ismark asks VII.

“I doubt it,” she says. “The place I was headed to before tumbling into Barovia, Baldur’s Gate, I know to be pretty large, but it’s one thing to hear of a place this size and another to see it in person…” Speaking of Baldur’s Gate reminds her of Virgil, who mentioned growing up there, and her stomach does a sickly flip.

“The afternoon is wearing on,” Ezmerelda reminds them. “Let’s find somewhere to stay the night, and we can start making a plan.”

A quick chat with the gate guards reveals an inn at the northwest corner of town. The walk there is filled with cheery people and market stalls, flower patches and fountains. It’s all in such stark contrast to Barovia that they’re still reeling, VII included, when they reach the inn. The wooden sign proclaims it as _The Silver Spoon_ , and while the exterior isn’t nearly as nice as the buildings they passed, the interior is still quite cozy. They scrounge some money and manage to enjoy a small meal and get a room for the four of them to share.

The sun is setting, and Ireena, Ezmerelda and Ismark are glued to the small window of the upstairs room, fascinated by the deep red and orange hues lighting up the sky. VII paces the floor, her thoughts still on Virgil. It’s ironic to her that he’s plagued her thoughts from the very first, but now instead of sexual fantasies, she fears for his very safety.

“What’s the plan?” she says as the sun finally dips below the horizon, and the three turn back to her.

“Well, we thought we’d ask _you_ that, actually,” Ezmerelda says. “Although not by much, you still know more than us about life out here. Where do you think we should look for information?”

“Even though Barovia might be some sort of dread pocket dimension, people still function about the same there as they do here,” she clarifies. “I would suggest a library first, and any stores or stalls pertaining to magic second. What do you think?”

“Sounds good,” Ismark agrees. “We’ll leave at first light.” He grins. “It feels so good to say that and _actually mean_ first light, not cloudy, hazy mist light.”

They ready for bed. The room has only two, putting Ismark and Ireena together, and VII with Ezmerelda. VII’s heart is still heavy as the candles are extinguished. “Will Virgil be okay?” she whispers to Ezmerelda.

“We can only hope,” is the response. “I’m worried for him too. But worrying isn’t going to get us anywhere. The sooner we find the answers we seek, the sooner we can return to him.”

They fall silent after that, and VII drifts into an uneasy sleep.


	11. Lord Limoteau

In a dank, dingy cell hidden somewhere far from public view, Virgil stirs. The room is dark, and yet some ambient light casts harsh shadows across the damp walls and slick floor. Shackles hold him in place against the cold stones. He is stripped of all covering save his smallclothes, and fresh cuts and gashes mar his pale flesh. Crimson eyes, dull and nearly devoid of life, flicker up as a shadow falls over him.

“Now tell me,” Strahd’s voice croons, dripping with icy malice. “ _Where did they go?_ ”

* * *

VII wakes with a start. This is the second time that very nightmare has shattered her sleep. She might chock it up to her worry leaking over into her dreams, but the fact that it was the exact same sequence of events both times is startling. Weak sunlight comes in through the window, signaling it’s just after dawn. Ezmerelda and Ireena are still sleeping, but Ismark sits up in his bed, greeting her as she wipes her forehead of cold sweat.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs to her.

“I had a nightmare about Virgil… being tortured,” she recalls. “Twice in a row, the exact same dream each time.”

“You’re just nervous,” he reassures her. “I know this is scary. We’re _all_ a little frightened, I’m sure. But we’re in this together. We’ll get back to him, I swear it.”

She manages a small smile, despite the sinking peril in her stomach. “That we will.”

When the others awaken, they descend the stairs to have a light breakfast. The morning is just as bright as the previous day, and they each shield their eyes as they walk outside. With broad directions to the information sector from the bartender, they set out in two groups: Ezmerelda and Ireena, and Ismark and VII. They each tackle one side of the street.

VII scans the marbled building names for anything resembling a library, but comes up dry. Her eyes keep wandering to the azure sky, and the plaza in the center of the road. A fountain spits pure water, freshly cut grass sloping up to a small plateau. She does a double-take; there are two figures under a leafy tree, and one appears to be threatening the other.

She taps Ismark’s arm. “Do you see that?”

He turns, catching her gaze. “Oh, my. Do you think we should help?”

“Let’s do it.”

The pair creep up the hill, trying to catch the perpetrator off-guard. A twig suddenly snaps as VII steps forward, and the hooded man whips around. “Stay out of this!” he hisses.

She swings forward with her axe, landing a clean cut on his shoulder. He howls in pain, lashing out unsuccessfully with the dagger in his hand. Another hit slashes his arm, and he swears loudly. “This changes nothing! His return cannot be forestalled!” He then turns on his cloak and does something spectacular. His form twists into that of a large crow, and he soars up into the sky.

Ismark notches an arrow in his bow, loosing it at the escaping bird. The aim is true, and takes down the target easily. The crow spirals to the earth, landing in a heap some distance away.

“Didn’t want him to report back to whoever sent him,” Ismark says sheepishly, stowing his weapon. “Whatever he may be…”

The man they just saved approaches them. His orange and white robe is elegant and intricate, and his smile is warm. “I thank you, kind strangers. I know not what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

“Who was that?” VII asks. “Or, rather, _what_ was that?”

“I wish I had an answer to give,” he says. “I’ve never seen him before. I was strolling through the plaza when he began cornering me.”

“That’s concerning,” she mutters. “But I guess it’s over, for now.”

“What are you names?” the man asks them. “So I may give a proper thank-you.”

“I’m Ismark,” says Ismark, “And this is VII.”

The man smiles again. “Such unique names! It is an honor, Master Ismark and Mistress VII. I am Lord Limoteau, and I am in your debt. If there is anything you should require, you need only name it.”

_A lord, huh?_ VII thinks on this. Having a lord on their side could certainly help them in their search for answers. “Well, we’re actually just visiting the city right now, and are looking for some solutions to a…conundrum we’ve found ourselves in. Do you think you could help us with that?”

“A conundrum, huh?” Lord Limoteau looks thoughtful. “Well, I do have many connections, so I should be able to at least point you in some sort of direction. Why don’t you come by my house, and you can stay there while we figure out this little ‘conundrum?’”

“That would be great,” VII beams.

“There’s two more of us, also,” Ismark adds. “Will that be okay?”

“The more the merrier!” Lord Limoteau laughs. “I have more than enough space for you all. I’ve got some meetings this afternoon, and it’ll take some time to get our guest rooms in order, so why don’t you drop by tonight, around dinnertime? We’ll have a fine meal and go from there.”

“Thank you so much,” VII says. He gives them directions to his home and then takes his leave with a wave.

“Well, that was fortunate,” Ismark says as they walk back to the street.

“Yes,” VII begins, “And hopefully it won’t come back to bite us. I’ve been hurt before, allowing myself to be so trusting of the unknown…”

“It’ll be okay.” He pats her shoulder. “We’ll all be there together. And he looked much more elf than vampire, to boot.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “Relax, VII.”

She tries to be calm as they reconvene with the Ireena and Ezmerelda, but her stomach still twinges each time she thinks of Virgil and her nightmare.

“Good work, you two,” Ezmerelda is saying in response to their adventure with Lord Limoteau. “Now we just need to find a way to pass the afternoon while we wait to meet with our new friend.”

“I think I saw some recreational places back that way.” Ismark points. “Maybe we should try over there.”

The four wander the city streets. A large building comes up on their left, complete with marble pillars and a tall, ornate doorway. “I think this is a bathhouse,” Ezmerelda says. “I’ve never seen one in person, but Virgil told me about them from before he lived in Barovia. I believe it’s a good place to unwind.”

“Sounds good,” says Ismark, and VII and Ireena agree. They head inside, the girls splitting off to their changing room, and Ismark to his. The marbled decorations are bright and adorned with smiling figures. As VII stands there, watching her friends undress, she realizes how uncomfortable she is. Her body is covered in scars; a far cry from the smooth, fair skin of Ezmerelda and Ireena. She leaves her smallclothes on, as does Ireena, but Ezmrerelda stands before them, confident enough in nothing.

“You look great,” she says gently to VII, sensing her discomfort. “Don’t let it phase you. I know there are plenty of men who prefer a girl who’s seen some real world action, and has scars to prove it.” She winks.

VII’s still a little shaky as they enter the main room, but Ezmerelda’s words soothed her troubled mind to a decent degree. There isn’t a ceiling, and bright sunshine streams down and sparkles on the surface of the various pools before them. People of all kinds lounge and bathe in various degrees of undress. Ismark catches sight of the three and waves them over to his claimed spot. He, too, is in his smallclothes, and his face burns red as he looks not Ezmerelda, but VII, over. He won’t meet her gaze, staring instead into the crystal-clear water around them.

“This is nice,” Ezmerelda says finally. “Who would’ve thought we’d end up in a place like this after the dread landscape of Barovia, huh?”

VII swishes her feet in the water as she sits by the edge of the pool. It _is_ nice, to be sure, but she can’t help feeling guilty about basking in the sun while Virgil may be getting tortured in some dark cell. They need to find a way back to him, quick. She’s so focused on her own thoughts that she fails to notice Ismark still giving her sheepish glances before darting his gaze elsewhere. His lips part several times, as though he wishes to speak, but nothing ever comes out.

* * *

The afternoon wears on, and evening finds the group standing on the doorstep of a lavish mansion. A servant in a crisp outfit bows. “Welcome, friends. Lord Limoteau is expecting you. Please, come inside.”

They’re ushered into a grand foyer. Orange and white coat tapestries and rugs; they must be the house colors. A carpeted staircase leads up to a second floor, and a jeweled chandelier casts a warm, candlelit glow around the room. Everything is extremely tidy and maintained.

“You must be our guests.” A man walks, more glides, down the stairs, his armor as orange and white as the manor around him. Pointed ears poke out from his auburn hair, striking sapphire eyes landing upon the four. Elegant fingers slide along the banister as he reaches the landing. “I am Alphonse Limoteau. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you all.”

VII forgets her woes for a moment as she looks upon Lord Limoteau’s handsome son. Ismark scowls as the elf approaches them. “Would you be so kind as to give me your names?”

VII speaks up first. “I’m VII, and these are my companions Ismark, Ireena, and Ezmerelda.”

“VII…” Alphonse pauses for a moment before smiling. “An intriguing name.” He lifts her hand and brushes his lips along her knuckles. “I do quite like it.”

Ismark looks as though he’s going to be sick as Alphonse completes the same gesture with Ezmerelda, but opts for merely a handshake for Ireena at Ismark’s icy glare. The two men’s handshake afterwards is quick and cold.

“Ah, Alphonse, I see you’ve met our friends.” Lord Limoteau steps out of a doorway down the hall. He greets the group. “I’m so glad you could make it. Unfortunately, I’ve had some things come up tonight, so we’ll need to push our conversation until tomorrow evening. I apologize for the small delay. Rest assured, however, your rooms have been prepared and dinner is being made for you as we speak.”

“I’d be glad to show them to their rooms, Father,” Alphonse says. “I’d like to get to know them better.”

“Splendid; thank you, Alphonse. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you all tomorrow.” He darts back into the room he emerged from and shuts the door.

Alphonse leads them upstairs. Several doors line the hall, and he indicates them to their designated accommodations. There’s only one room left as VII stands, eagerly, beside him.

“And this, Mistress VII, is your room.” Alphonse opens the way to reveal a large bedroom with a plush four poster bed. The washroom houses a massive bathtub, and a balcony looks out over the twinkling city.

“Dinner should be ready soon. I’ll send someone up to alert you when to come downstairs.” He bows. “I hope your stay is pleasant.”

Emotions buzz around in VII’s head as the evening proceeds apace. Dinner is delicious, and she and her companions chat idly with one another before retiring to their respective quarters. She stands out on her balcony, torn between her fear for Virgil and her budding feelings for Alphonse. Her rest that night is rather easy, all things considered, and thankfully devoid of nightmares.


	12. A Day at the Markets

Another shining day dawns over Elturel. VII sits up, taking a moment to remember why she’s lying in such a marvelous bed. She recalls their needed audience with Lord Limoteau and rises, wondering what time they’ll be able to meet with him. Fear for Virgil clouds the edges of her mind, but the morning is warm and bright, and her spirits are abnormally high.

Venturing out into the hallway reveals her companions to be absent. She checks the downstairs dining room but finds only Alphonse, daintily sipping tea. He greets her. “Looking for your comrades?”

She nods, gingerly sitting across from him. A servant emerges from the kitchens and places a hearty breakfast before her. “Have you seen them?” she asks.

“They left to run some sort of errand earlier. They didn’t want to wake you. I don’t think they’ll be back until this evening, when you’re scheduled to meet with my father.” He drops a sugar cube into his cup. “Is there something you’d like to do in the meantime? I’d be more than happy to accompany you.”

Her cheeks burn at the thought of spending the day with him. This idly reminds her of that morning in Strahd’s castle, when Virgil gave her the tour. Another stomach twinge: _Virgil_. “Well, would you mind showing me around town? It seems like there’s a lot to see.” More sightseeing while Virgil suffers pains her to think of, but she knows there’s nothing she can do until nightfall, when they meet with Lord Limoteau. This is…merely a way to pass the time until then. And what better way than with a handsome escort?

“Certainly. We’ll visit the markets. Let’s finish breakfast and get ready, and then meet up outside.”

Fifteen minutes later the pair is headed down the cobblestone street. People walk and mill about, chatting with one another. VII can hardly contain the small spring in her step, strolling in line with Alphonse. After a while they reach the heart of the markets, which are bustling with stores and carts crammed with every imaginable item. She’s never seen so many goods in one place, and it’s all a bit overwhelming.

“I’ve just realized I don’t have any money,” she then admits. “But window shopping will still be fun for me.”

He waves it off. “Please, find whatever you’d like. I’ll pay for you.”

“I don’t want to impose…” she begins, but he will hear nothing of it. Resigned, she scans over the booths for something interesting. An idle thought has crossed her mind: she’d love to get gifts for her friends, to show her appreciation. Kind of like Ismark’s bracelet, which still dangles from her wrist. But what to get them?

Eventually she stumbles upon a stall selling wooden figurines. They’re beautiful, and if the outlandish shopkeeper is to be believed, all hand carved. She takes a moment to browse, trying to find the perfect matches for her companions. As Alphonse pays and they depart sometime later, in her hands are four figurines—a horse for Ismark, a ballerina for Ezmerelda, a leopard for Ireena, and a castle for Virgil.

“Thank you,” she says to him for the umpteenth time. “I think they’ll really like these.”

“Of course, my lady,” he says. “I am glad to be of service.”

As they walk back to the manor, she sneaks glances at him. He has the proud gait of a warrior, and the humble demeanor of a gentleman. The orange and white highlights of his light armor compliment his chiseled build well. A sword sways at his hip, his azure eyes seeming to glow in the late afternoon light. She bites her lip and looks away as he addresses her. “There’s one more place I’d like to show you, if you don’t mind.”

“Please,” she insists, and he leads her to the top of the sloping road. It levels out into a garden courtyard near the plaza where she and Ismark saved his father the previous day. Birds skitter across the stones of the serene scene, weaving in and around the flower patches. A stunning sunset is in full view, bathing everything in warm hues.

“This is beautiful,” she breathes, taking it all in.

“Not half as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, smiling gently.

Her fears for the mission seem far away as her heartrate kicks into overdrive. Does he really mean that? Truly? Her face must be as red as the sunset. She stutters out a thank-you, looking everywhere but at him.

“My, you’re easy to fluster,” he laughs. “I’m glad we had this time to spend together today, VII.”

Before she can reply, something large rockets towards them. They jump out of the way as a glop of dirt and mud splatters the pavement in front of them.

“Sorry!” a voice calls from the nearby roof. A man’s head pops over the ledge, presumably the cleaner’s, looking sheepish. “Didn’t see you down there!”

Alphonse calls back. “No problem!” He then turns to VII, mud caked down his front. “Sorry about that. I’ve never had that happen before; usually they’re more careful…”

She shakes her head, still riding the high of his compliment. “It’s okay.”

“There should be time to clean up before the meeting tonight. Let’s head back, and I’ll have the servants draw a bath for you.”

Sometime later VII enters her room. Her friends are still out, and she places their gifts on the desk. To her surprise, two servants are huddled in her washroom. They inform her that her tub has a crack, and direct her to a guest washroom across the hall while they sort out the maintenance. “We’ll take your clothes to wash,” one says. “They should be clean and dry in time for tonight.”

She pads across the hall in a plush towel, finding the washroom with little incident. The door is shut but, finding it unlocked, she steps inside regardless. Tiles line the floor and halfway up the walls, a massive marble tub placed up against a frosted window. Everything appears in order, save one thing. Alphonse is partway into the already drawn water, completely naked.

He turns at the sound of the door opening, his face one of horror. “Oh!” He covers himself best he can, and VII quickly looks to the floor.

“Sorry!” “I didn’t know you were in here…” “No, it’s entirely my fault…” “Not a problem…” Their words jumble together, echoing off the marble. “Let me get out of your way,” he says once she explains the situation. “Would you… mind handing me a towel?”

She does so and he darts out of the room with another apology. Heat burns on her cheeks, and a little lower as well. The bathwater is warm and soapy, and as she soaks, she can’t help but recall how incredible he looked with nothing on. He’s got some tone, perhaps even more than Virgil, and he’s half vampire. The sheen of the water on his skin was something else…not to mention his…

Her mind is so wound up right now with everything that’s happened. The planned wedding, the cancellation, Strahd’s true colors, the ball, Ezmerelda’s woes, leaving Barovia, and now this incident with Alphonse…she just needs a release. Something to take the pressure away, even if just for a moment. And her hands in that heavenly bath are exactly what she needs.

Her thoughts bounce between Virgil and Alphonse. Mayhap both at the same time crosses her mind at least once. Ultimately it lands on the latter man, for it is his name that escapes her trembling lips once she’s finished. Lying there, panting, she feels quite embarrassed, but the release was needed—not to mention long and hard—so she doesn’t mind so much in the end.

When she returns to her room, her clean clothes are laid out on the bed. Emerging into the hall after dressing, perhaps a little shaky, she sees Ismark, who gives her a sheepish smile.

“Are you headed downstairs?” he asks. Why is his face so red? He couldn’t possibly have heard her…right?

She nods, trying to keep the conversation going. “How was your outing with the others?”

“Oh, it was good. We were trying to find permanent housing for Ireena, you know, since she won’t be returning to Barovia with us.”

That fact had somehow escaped her until he spoke it. “That’s right. Did you find somewhere?”

“Indeed. There’s a monastery down the road, and her intent is to become a nun. I think she’ll do well there.” He smiles, but there’s sadness in his eyes. “She’s all settled in, and we’re to officially see her off tomorrow. I’m happy for her.”

“I’m glad you found a place for her,” she says as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “She deserves freedom and happiness.”

They meet Ezmerelda and Alphonse in the foyer. “My father wishes to chat with you over dinner,” he says, not meeting VII's eyes. “Please, let us head in.”

Lord Limoteau sits at the head of the dining table, offering a warm smile. “Welcome, my friends! I am so sorry about the delay of this meeting with you, but I assure you, you now have my full undivided attention.”

Between bites, Ezmerelda recounts the tale of Strahd and Barovia, and their need for a way to break the curse over the land once and for all. VII thinks desperately of Virgil, absentmindedly swirling her spoon through her soup. What if Lord Limoteau doesn’t believe them? Or worse, what if he thinks them to be servants of darkness on some terrible mission, and locks them away?

“Intriguing.” Lord Limoteau’s brow furrows. “This is quite beyond my expertise, I’m afraid. However, I do know of someone who may be able to help you.”

They wait with bated breath as he continues. “There’s a gentleman named General Stonemark who is the commander of a group of paladins known as the Hell Riders. He’s quite a hardened fellow, but if you earn his trust, he should be able to aid you.”

“Where can we find him?” VII blurts.

“That’s where we hit a bit of a snag.” He taps his long fingers on the table. “Stonemark doesn’t meet with just anyone, and guests aren’t allowed at his residence, unless given direct permission by him. Even I cannot call upon him at will.”

Their hearts sink. “There is some good news though,” he says. “He’s never one to miss a ball, as he must keep up his image. If you attend the one coming up in a few nights and impress him enough, you should be able to secure an audience with him.”

“A ball, huh?” Ezmerelda looks thoughtful. “Nothing we haven’t dealt with before.” She winks at VII. “That should work out splendidly.”

“We’ll need clothes that are up to snuff,” Ismark reminds them.

“That won’t be a problem at all,” Lord Limoteau says. “I’ll have Alphonse take the ladies into town tomorrow to get fitted for dresses, and I’m sure one of his many outfits here at the manor will suit you just fine, Master Ismark.”

“I may need lessons on how to behave properly in such a setting,” VII mumbles. Sure, she’d attended that phantom ball at the Death House, but half of it was spent tracking Strahd, and the other half was staring at Virgil and glaring at Ezmerelda.

“I’d be happy to give you etiquette lessons,” Alphonse says, and she perks right up. Ismark scowls into his bowl.

“Then it’s settled.” Lord Limoteau nods. “The ball is three nights from now. I’ve no doubt you’ll represent our manor well.”

Dinner wraps up, and he takes his leave once again. Alphonse retires as well, leaving VII, Ismark and Ezmerelda in the front hall.

“I have something for you,” VII says to them. “If you don’t mind stopping by my room before going to bed.”

They follow her upstairs and she gives them their figurines. “These are beautiful,” Ezmerelda exclaims. “How thoughtful!”

Ismark is bright red, running his thumb down the horse’s back. “Thank you, VII.”

VII holds the leopard in her hands. “This one is for Ireena, but…I guess we can’t give it to her, since nuns are supposed to abandon worldly things, right?”

“Right. I’m sure she would have loved it.” Ismark nods. “Why don’t you keep it, VII? I know it’ll be in good hands with you.”

She agrees, and the three then part ways to rest. As she lays in bed, she looks to the castle carving for Virgil on the desk. Her heart aches for him. _Hold on just a little longer,_ she pleads. _We’ll be back soon._

As if in response, her dreams are once again filled with the same nightmare of him shackled to the wall, half dead, with Strahd leering over him, his eyes full of hate, grinning maliciously.


End file.
